


If It Hurts This Much (Then It Must Be Love)

by Meppen15



Category: Glee
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 18:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 97,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17350313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meppen15/pseuds/Meppen15
Summary: They've been friends since childhood, and best friends for even longer. But what happens when Santana and Brittany stumble into serious romantic territory? G!P entails.





	1. Chapter One

July 2001

There's music blaring through the street as Santana heads down it; her pigtails bobbing against her shoulder blades with every step and her pink Powerpuff Girls backpack clinging to her bony, seven-year old frame.

To her left there's a small crowd of people, multiplying in size on the basketball courts across from her house and she can see from at the foot of her stoop the different ethnicities mixed among there. Black, white, Asian and everything else downtown New York has to offer. They're all dancing, a make-shift dance mat with a boom box to the right on the floor as their limbs glide and pop along to the beat.

Santana's long stopped moving to stare. It's not her fault, she just finds dancing fascinating. It always renders her awe-struck when these guys and girls dance because it's almost as if their limbs are disconnected from their bodies. Their arms wave like a piece of spaghetti, and their bodies roll like they belong in a bakery. They way they dance is just so beautiful and before she knows it, Santana's crossed the road – her abuela would totally kill her if she told her she didn't check left and right before crossing – and now she's standing behind the crowd, trying to peer between their legs to see the dancing up close.

And somehow, she manages. She manages to worm her way through the crowd, pushing with her hands to separate legs as she ducks through them until she's at the front of the crowd, head tilted back slight and eyes wide as she just gazes. Gazes at the dancing and the freedom of the dancer's moves. It really is just incredible.

But then something catches her eye from across the group, and her focus is shattered. Bright, sparkling blue eyes are staring straight at her, almost smiling, if that were possible, and Santana feels a weird fluttering inside her stomach. This girl looks like something out of a Disney movie, or like, a fairy tale. She has long blonde hair, tied into a ponytail and slung over her right shoulder, and her skin is smooth and pale. The only thing Santana can compare her to is Cinderella or even Rapunzel – except without the freakishly long hair or hole-ridden clothes.

Someone knocking into her breaks her from her reverie and she snaps her head around, switching on the scowl she copied from her abuela but only finds legs in front of her. Everyone's so much taller than she is, and she knows that people probably aren't paying attention to her whilst this dance battle is going on, but still, they could try to watch out a little. Even if everyone is like, a teenager or older and has a good two or three feet on her height. Apart from this blonde girl of course.

Glancing back across the circle, disappointment sinks in as she finds the girl missing. Her shoulders slump and face drops and she figures her abuela is waiting for her anyway so she might as well be going. And all these stupid people are pushing her around and shoving her further back into the crowd anyway, so she can barely see the dancers.

Santana ducks beneath legs and knees, barging through with her shoulders and pushing out of the crowd, feeling a little more than angry because these tall people are just being mean. They should be nice to a kid. She's sure it's like, in the rules of the world or something.

Finally, she gets there, and breaks out into the open with a deep breath. Her face feels all hot from the barely-there space she was basically crawling through, and a fresh blast of air greets her when she pops out from between the last pair of legs and climbs to her feet.

Except there's someone standing in front of her.

Pasting on that scowl again, Santana tips her head back and glares at the person obstructing her path with all intent of telling him or her to 'go to hell' 'cause she heard her mom say that to her dad a while back and he got real angry. But the furrowed features are quickly replaced by a blank expression when she finds the blonde girl in front of her, hands clasped behind her back and feet rocking forward and backwards innocently. All the anger and frustration she felt seeps out of her and she finds herself wondering why the hell that even happened. This girl's a stranger. Santana doesn't even know her.

When she's finally on her feet, Santana dusts off her dungarees and smooths out all the wrinkles. Her abuela taught her that presentation is always the best thing, so she needs to look smart. Her teacher told her that, too.

But neither of them speak when all is said and done, and Santana arches a brow at the girl as she just smiles and latches onto Santana's wrist – clearly not caring for personal space – and drags her around the circle and towards a bench. She waves her pale hand forward, and Santana looks at her cautiously before climbing onto the bench and turning back around again. This blonde girl has already joined her when she faces the crowd again, and she smiles at the girl before watching the dancers again.

And then she realizes why she was led up here. From the bench Santana towers over the entire group of people, and can see the mat, the boombox and the several dancers poppin' and lockin' across the 'dance floor'. And it's then that Santana first gets the overwhelming urge to hug the girl. The blonde didn't need to help her, or show her this bench so she could see better, but she just did out of the kindness of her heart.

For the first time ever, Santana thinks she may have found a friend.

The people continue to dance, and Santana grins at her new companion as they begin to rock and bounce to the music, clapping their hands in time to the crowd doing the same. The dancers, for their part, just move. Move and glide and slide and jump a few meters in front of her. They're just so free. So smooth. And Santana just can't help but stare at them. Her eyes roam over their sculpted calf muscles that clench as they rise upon their tip toes, and their toned arms that flex and roll with every movement. Their abs of steel curl and crunch as their legs bend and twirl them around, and Santana's jaw goes slack as one of the dancers holds his head with one hand and drops his entire body below his shirt, seeming as if his head just dropped off his body.

It's just incredible.

But all good things come to an end, and three or four minutes later the music dies. People begin to disperse out, some in groups and a few just in couples and Santana's bottom lip juts out into a pout; that was awesome and honestly, she could watch them for at least a good out or two.

Pushing the sadness away, knowing there'll be more times like this to come, Santana climbs down from the bench, pressing her hand to the seat and swinging her legs down when necessary, and begins to head home. Her abuela's definitely going to be mad for coming home later than she said, and she doesn't want to make her any angrier. So she darts her way through the people walking away from the crowd, listening to their low murmurs of awe and compliments and can't help but smile.

Santana manages to get half-way across the basketball court before she remembers the blonde girl, and she instantly turns to search for the girl because she just left without even saying goodbye; but the girl is nowhere in sight. Again, disappointment strikes and Santana exhales heavily, hooking her thumbs into her back pack and making her way to her house once more.

A small tug on one of her ponytails stops her though, and she grins instantly; the warmth curdling inside her stomach telling her that it's the girl again. She twists, peering over her shoulder and finds exactly who she expected to find, grinning down at her from a two inch height gap.

"Hello."

It's simple, and quiet. But there's some strange warmth in the single word, and Santana finds her seven-year old self smiling idiotically up at the girl. "Hi."

Grinning, the blonde girl sidles up beside her and urges her with a soft push of the palm to Santana's lower back to start walking again. If it were anyone else, Santana would probably screech at the girl for touching her again, because seriously? Personal space? But this girl just seems to drain all of that out of it, and she can tell if they're going to be friends, this is something she's going to have to get used to.

Somewhere along the walk home and this strange girl's rambling about unicorns and rainbows, Santana slides her eyes to the left and takes a quick peek at the girl. She's pretty sure she goes to school with her, because she's convinced she's heard about a girl who has an obsession with mythical creatures going around in her art class, but she's never really paid any attention. Not until now, anyway. And now she can't seem to stop wanting to hear about unicorns and rainbows because it just means more time to listen to this girl talk.

After a few minutes, they arrive at Santana's house and she begins to climb the stoop, pausing when the blonde girl speaks.

"I'm Brittany. Brittany Susan Pierce."

She turns around, looking down at the girl and examining her body and clothes; the way her bright yellow tank top hangs a little limply off her thin arms, but how the orange duck takes all focus away from that because it's kind of cute. Even if ducks were like, so three years ago.

"So?" She replies, because it's just in her nature to be mean to anyone who thinks it's a good idea to talk to her.

That probably explains why she's never had any friends though. Throughout kindergarten, she would always sit in the sand pit, surrounded by toys and other five-year old's and would always greet the kids who were brave – or stupid – enough to talk to her with a scowl and a small hiss (because snakes are scary and they wouldn't come back if they were scared of her) and they would just run off.

Then again, it could be because of her... extra appendage, that kept her from being nice to people. All through her life her mom told her how different she was, how she would never really fit in with the other little girls because other little girls didn't have the parts she did and how she would never be able to be friends with the boys either, because technically, she was still a girl and so the boys wouldn't want to hang out with her either. From then on, there was this wall she put up – protection, you could say – that kept potential friends away. And before this strange blonde girl everyone had proved that having friends was pointless, because they'd always end up stealing your toys or breaking something of yours.

But Santana doesn't know that this girl with the duck shirt and jeans with holes in the knees, is the one to change things around. Not quite yet, anyway.

"You don't want to be friends with me," Santana tells the girl, trying to save her time because Santana Lopez doesn't do friends. Not now, not ever.

But Brittany just tilts her heads to the side and pouts. "Yes, I do. I like you," she tries, climbing the steps.

Santana wants to scoff at the girl. Being only seven years old, most people would think that she doesn't know much about the world. Doesn't know about poverty, or diseases, or the downfall of modern-day economy; but she knows a lot more than most seven-year old's do. Including the fact that normal girls don't have the parts she does. And she's learnt to be content with the fact she's different from most. She's learnt to be content with the fact that girls like her don't make friends easily. And now, that's what she's trying to tell Brittany.

"I'm different, though," she announces, shrugging and causing her back pack to shift further up her back. "You don't want to be friends with me."

Brittany seems adamant, though. "I'm different, too," she tries, scrunching up her nose in confusion and distaste. "My mommy says my brain don't work the same way as other girls do 'cause unicorns aren't horses who did extra good and got a horn for it instead of a medal. They're magical ani-nam-al that don't exist," she explains with the world's most adorable pout.

Still, Santana narrows her eyes. This girl is weird, but there's something really cute about how weird she is. Friends can think that though, right? She assumes so, and looks back over her shoulder, seeing the curtain twitch and hand come out. Her abuela's waving her in and so she turns back to Brittany and readjusts her grip on her backpack, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I've gotta–"

"We can be different together," Brittany cuts in, looking all kinds of cute and innocent as she rocks on to the balls of her feet and back down again, repeatedly. "We can be friends."

Santana doesn't take that as a suggestion, as more of a request and can't help but nod in agreement. There's something so enticing about this girl. So tethering that she finds herself unable to tell the girl no. Sure, they've only just met, but doesn't that just make it weirder? They've known each other for what, ten minutes and this girl's already driving Santana crazy, but intriguing her beyond what she thought was possible?

So weird.

"Sure," Santana sighs, and before she knows it Brittany's climbed up the stoop to the step below hers and wrapped her thin arms around her waist, pulling her into a hug she didn't know she needed.

Although, because it caught her completely off guard, Santana's now standing like a plank of wood with her arms crushed beneath the other girl's and so she can't actually return the embrace, instead just standing there awkwardly until Brittany releases her. Despite the awkward angle though, Santana can't help but think that she doesn't want to stop hugging this blonde girl. Hugs to her are like Christmas. They only come around once a year, and that's when her papi decides to come back to the house. But even that isn't guaranteed. Last Christmas wasn't, anyway.

The hug ends, and Brittany pulls back with a wide grin over her face, showing the gap in her mouth from where one of her front teeth are missing and it makes Santana grin right back.

"We're friends now, okay?" The girl says, and Santana is a little startled from the sudden embrace and so all she can manage in reply is a weak nod.

And as Brittany bounced down the stairs, muttering the word 'awesome' underneath her breast and grinning with uncontainable excitement, Santana can't help but wonder if they would ever actually be friends, because people don't seem to stay with her long – even if they're related.

Little did she know that, that right there? Was just the beginning, and that friendship would most definitely last for eternity.

 

Late October, 2018

Santana stretches her arms way above her head, tilting her neck from side to side and hearing the satisfying click as the kinks in her muscles are worked out. It's Friday, it's 7pm and she's just signed a young hip-hop hopeful, going by the name of Robert Pointer to her company's label, Millennium Records.

She's been an A&R executive for the past four years of her life, straight out of college aged 20, and into an internship which ended with her becoming one of the most renowned executives in the business. And right now? Her life pretty much rocks. She has a smokin' hot girlfriend and the best best friend in the entire world, and to top that all of her job is kick ass and pays incredibly well.

There's not much to complain about.

She tilts her head back, rolling the back against the leather of her chair from side to side, closing her eyes and wondering what to do with the rest of her Friday night.

There's a party out on her apartment's roof tomorrow night, all thanks to her girlfriend Sophie's insistence on hosting some type of gathering, which she could be helping with. But then a certain blue-eyed, blonde best friend pops into her brain, and her heart aches as she feels like she hasn't seen the girl in what feels like decades. But really, it's only been a year and a half. Still, to Brittany and Santana, that's like, a hundred times longer than they'd ever and have ever gone without seeing each other.

She weighs up the options before shrugging to herself and stretching across her desk, picking up her cell and kicking her feet up on the top. Her fingers dial in a familiar number and she brings the phone to her ear, drumming her free hands fingertips upon the counter top.

"Hello, Pineapple Studios, New York. How may I help you?"

Santana rolls her eyes at the sound of one of Brittany's smarmy colleagues. They're such stuck up assholes, honestly. "Can you put me through to Brittany Pierce please?"

"May I ask who is calling?"

She runs her tongue along the front of her teeth. Swear to God these people just try to piss her off; they know exactly who she is because she calls all the damn time, asking for the same freaking' person. "Her best friend."

"Okay, hold please."

The line rings out with some crappy, orchestral jazz that makes her want to hang up immediately, but before she knows, there's a ruffling at the end and a familiar voice shouting 'Pierce, it's for you' across the room.

"Hello?" The voice says, breathlessly.

Santana smiles and shakes her head, even though Brittany can't see it. Her best friend's voice is like sunshine on a rainy day. "Hey, stranger."

"San!"

The sheer excitement in her best friend's voice makes Santana's grin grow even wider, and she crosses one ankle over the other, shutting her laptop. Work's over and done with. This is just Britt-Britt time. "How's it going, B?"

"Tiring. Matt was off today so I've taught my classes on top of his."

"Damn girl," Santana fakes a ghetto voice. "How do you handle it?"

"If it keeps me in shape, and pays my rent, I don't mind all that much."

She can hear the nose scrunch in her best friends tone and swings her leg off the desk, sitting up straight and resting her elbows on the desk. Her mind begins to race with thoughts of her best friend in a sports bra and knee-length sweatpants and oh God, that's so much more than she should be thinking. It's not like she doesn't know Brittany's attractive, because hell, Brittany is definitely attractive–

(Like, really attractive. So attractive that even a blind person would be able to sense it..)

–But it's just that Santana had spent so many of her hormonal teenage years trying not to focus on that, because their friendship was so unique and strong that neither of them wanted to risk losing it by hooking up or involving unnecessary feelings, that it seems a little stupid to go back on all that training, just so Santana can put another dollop of Brittany into her spank bank.

Still though, she indulges in the image of a slight sweating Brittany, half-naked and dancing for a few seconds. She's allowed to, it's like best friend rights to know how hot your best friend is. But she still has to remind herself, after the thinking slash day dreaming that their relationship is purely platonic. After all these years, you'd think that Santana would have engrained that in her mind and it would just be an automatic thing now to know that Brittany's just a friend, but it's not. Santana doesn't know why though. But she doesn't care to dwell on it too much, fearing the unknown.

Because they're best friends. Always have been and always will be. Brittany may be bisexual, and Santana may be gay, but that doesn't and hasn't ever meant that they were bound to get together at some point. They're best friends, and that's the way it's always worked for them. It's simply, and easy, and there's no complications or questions. They're always there for each other and will continue to be for the rest of their lives.

And Santana's okay with that. Brittany is too.

"True that Britt," she says, clearing her throat. "Anyway, I was just wondering if you were up to anything this weekend? Seeing as you've moved in now and all."

Brittany's just moved in to an apartment a few blocks from Santana and Sophie's. She'd spent most of her time moving as she could never find anywhere that made her want to stay, or keep with a job that she enjoyed enough – or so she'd told Santana – and has recently settled for a nice penthouse apartment downtown and got a job as a dance teacher. Brittany seemed pretty happy with it, and the news had been like the greatest Christmas present ever for Santana, because now it meant she'd get to spend more time with her best friend.

A year and half is just too long.

"Um," Santana can almost feel Brittany twirling her hair in deep thought through the phone. "Not that I can think of. Why? What have you got up your sleeve?"

"I'm hosting a party, wanna come? You can bring Rachel if you want?"

Rachel Berry – one of Brittany's long-term friends that Santana never liked. But hey, a friend of Brittany's was always a friend of hers – part of the no questions thing.

"You are hosting a party?" Brittany chuckles at the thought. "Since when did pigs start to fly?"

Santana brings her hand to her chest and gasps dramatically. "I'm offended Britt. I'm not as anti-social as you'd like to think."

"Name three times you've ever voluntarily hosted a party." Brittany deadpans down the phone and Santana curses herself, unable to answer the question. "What's the reason anyway?"

It's kind of irritating how well Brittany knows her, because it's like Brittany's always one step ahead of her and knows her choice even before she's made one; but it's a comfortable irritating and Santana's grown accustomed to it over the years of their friendship.

"Santana?"

Santana tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and thinks. They've been best friends for as long as she can remember, and there's nothing they don't share. Everything they do and everything they've ever done is shared between them, and so it shouldn't be that hard to tell Brittany that tomorrow night, she'll be meeting – and finding out about for the first time – Sophie, Santana's long-term girlfriend. Who, for some stupid reason, Santana decided not to tell Brittany about in the past. Yet for some reason it's still too difficult to say out loud. So she doesn't.

Instead, she settles with a shrug and a, "Felt like it," and spins around in her chair idly.

Brittany hums down the phone, and Santana knows her best friend is hearing the lie in her words. She crosses her finger and prays that Brittany won't ask anymore.

"Okay..." the word is drawn out and Santana clenches her hand into a fist, preparing herself for the 'bullshit' call. "Well I'll be there. But I'm bringing Rachel. I don't want to get left by Miss Hotshot and all her high-end office friends."

Santana rolls her eyes playfully. "You know it's not like that Britt-Britt. But I just can't help it if I'm popular," she boats, chuckling to herself as her eyes roam through the glass walls of her office and onto her secretary, Jenny, who's staring at her quizzically.

Coughing, and removing the dirty great grin off her face, Santana turns her features stoic and resumes the proper sitting position. Most of her colleagues – well, the ones that work for her anyway – never see the non-professional side of her. None of them have ever seen her smile or giggle, or even make eye contact with anyone that didn't metaphorically burst into flames. And so she has to keep that reputation up. The music industry is a cut throat business, and the only way she's been able to get to her high-powered position here is to play the bitch.

Of course, doing that had led to several scared employees and a rumor about her being a descendent of Satan, but it'd never bothered her. Always just laughed off with a glass of scotch with her boss.

"Awesome. 7:30 start, right?"

Santana can't stop the grin, even if Jenny is still side-eying her. "Am I that predictable?"

"You are to me, San," Brittany says back, a smile clear in her tone. "But I've gotta go now. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Santana nods and exhales softly, remembering she'll see her best friend tomorrow.. "Sure, B. Can't wait to see you!"

"Me neither, bestie. Bye!"

"Bye, Britt." She hangs up and slumps back against her chair with a massive grin on her face.

She's missed her best friend more than she could have ever thought possible.

Santana returns home around 8pm. She slips the key into the lock, pushes the door open with her foot and drops all her belongings on the side table before moving into the apartment.

The living room is the first room she encounters, and so she shrugs off her blazer and throws it over the armchair near the entrance before finding Sophie, sitting on the sofa, watching TV intently and wearing one of Santana's t-shirts with, apparently, nothing beneath it but a pair of lacy panties.

Immediately, Santana's pants begin to tighten and she tilts her head to the side, silently admiring the smooth skin of her girlfriend's legs as she leans against the door frame, yet to be noticed.

Sophie's her long-term girlfriend. Well, long-term in Santana's terms is more than a one night stand. Admittedly, they had started off that way after meeting at a gay bar down on 42nd Street and spending the rest of the night having the most incredible sex known to freaking man, but things changed that night. Afterward, whereas Santana would roll off, kiss the girl on the cheek and then head on home, she stayed the night and actually asked for Sophie's number. That lead to some flirty texting, a date here and there and then seven months later, BAM, were moving in together.

It'd been strange at first, because the only person Santana had ever become emotionally attached to was Brittany, but things changed and she guessed at some point she'd meet someone who she would want to settle down with. Couldn't be Brittany, because of their friendship and all that jazz, and Sophie was just as good. Mostly.

The whole 'extra appendage' thing had never been a problem with Sophie, which was good because Santana had some bad experiences with it in the past. In fact, it was quite the contrary to a problem. Turns out, Sophie had always wanted to do it with someone like Santana and after she'd run her hand across the crotch of Santana's jeans during one heated make-out session to find a large bulge, she'd just shrugged and said it was hot. That night was definitely a good one.

Santana sighs and straightens up. "You know, if someone broke into the apartment and saw you looking like that," she says, pushing off the door frame and heading towards the back of the sofa where she leans down and grins at her girlfriend. "Burglary would definitely be the last thing on their mind. And then I'd have to kick their ass."

Sophie smiles back and tilts her head, pouting her lips for a kiss. "Well," she says into Santana's mouth. "Getting to see you fight for me would be really hot."

Hands gliding over the shoulder of her girlfriend, Santana presses harder into the kiss and twists Sophie's head, manipulating the angle until it's more comfortable. Except Sophie misinterprets the movement and instead latches onto Santana's shirt, tugging until Santana topples over the back of the sofa and onto her, where she shuffles until thighs are either side of her body and she's rocking into her girlfriend methodically.

But she's too tired for anything more than cuddling, and pulls back when the need for oxygen becomes too much, propping onto her elbow to look down at her girlfriend. "Hey beautiful."

"Hey," Sophie returns, pecking her lips and smiling sweetly.

Santana nuzzles their noses together quickly and pushes up until she can stand. "I need a beer. Want anything?"

Her girlfriend twists back to the TV, switching back to her sitting position. "No thanks, babe."

The term of endearment has always been a bit of a problem, and as she smiles and bites back the urge to say that it's a problem, she begins to think about it. In the past, with ex-girlfriends and people she's been seeing, it was always the same. 'Babe' and 'baby' always seemed to make her cringe because they were just so typical for infatuated couples. Always using cutesy names and staring at each other like love-sick puppies, it just isn't for Santana and never has been; but Sophie disagreed with that and so they had to compromise during their two month anniversary dinner because she just couldn't stand it anymore. 'Babe' was okay. 'Baby' however, was off the freaking table, and it was okay because Sophie didn't even ask Santana why it was like that. Just shrugged and accepted it.

Santana heads for the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes before reaching blindly for the fridge. There's only a few beers inside, and a chunk of cheese that she's pretty sure has been there for a good month or two, and she seriously wishes that Sophie would just do some grocery. There's a food market like a block away, walking distance even, and Sophie always gets off work earlier than Santana and her job is no way near as hard as Santana's.

But this isn't the time to start arguing about that, and so Santana glances around, trying to figure out if she has enough energy to even attempt to find the pasta to cook something; but gives up about three seconds in and decides take-out is the way to go. She grabs a beer anyway, cracking it open and taking a long hard sip as she kicks the fridge door shut and heads back into the living room, aiming straight for the desk over in the far corner.

There's a Chinese take-out menu sticking out one of the drawers, and to open it and search for anything but Chinese would just require extra effort and honestly? With Santana's mood and energy level? Screw that. Chinese is always good.

She snatches it quickly, not even bothering to open the draw and walks back towards the sofa, throwing herself down onto the cushion next to her girlfriend and shifting when Sophie leans into her, back pressing into her side and head resting on her shoulder.

"I'm ordering Chinese. You want some?"

Sophie twists her head until she can look at her. "I've already eaten," she replies, kissing the underside of Santana's chin and glancing back at the TV. "But thanks anyway, babe."

Santana tries not to focus on the 'babe' thing as well as the fact that Sophie could've saved her some dinner or whatever, and digs out her iPhone, dialling in Mr Chow's number and lifting to her ear. There's the small talk at first, the 'how was your day?' and all of that, but then she begins to recite her usual and Mr Chow tells her how she always has the same thing. A witty remark is on the tip of her tongue and she's about to speak, but then she feels Sophie's hands glide high on her thigh and fingers dance around the seam of her pants. Her eyes widen and mind blanks, and she has absolutely no idea what Mr. Chow just asked her because she's too busy mouthing 'what are you doing?' to her girlfriend who has this devilish glint in her eye.

It's a stupid question really, because the greenness of her girlfriend's eyes are sparkling with arousal and Santana gulps as the hand on her thigh slips up to her crotch and slides the zip down, reaching inside to grab at her firmly. Lips find the side of her neck, and she can feel herself hardening at a rapid touch as the hand inside her pants begins massaging in circular motions. Down the end of the line, she hears Mr. Chow mutter something but groans and grunts are threatening to escape her mouth and that's just not cool. So she hangs up pronto, hastily throwing her phone away from her.

"Soph," Santana groans, tilting her head back but then forward again. "What are you–"

"You've had a hard week," Sophie cuts in, slipping underneath the waistband of Santana's boxers and making Santana's hips roll upwards as fingers run over her sensitive head. She's quickly drawn into a deep kiss, tongue slipping past and tracing the inside of her mouth before her girlfriend pulls away and presses open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and to her neck.

Truth is, she hasn't really had a hard week. But it's not like she's in a position to argue right now, there's a hand around her cock stroking languidly and a super hot girlfriend sucking the skin of her neck into her mouth. If she were to correct Sophie this might not continue and fuck that. She's just going to keep her mouth closed, sit back and relax.

Feeling the button of her pants pop open thanks to nimble fingers, Santana watches her girlfriend intently as Sophie pulls down the fabric of her pants and boxers, releasing her throbbing hard on. It bounces lightly against her clothed stomach, and she feels a wave of satisfaction crash over her as Sophie gasps. She knows she's big. And it's not one of those egotistical things to boost her self-esteem, she really is big. Eight inches hard, which is bigger than average, and in the past she was scared she'd hurt her girlfriends or sexual partners, but Sophie's never complained and has told her on multiple occasions that Santana was bigger than all her previous boyfriends. To be honest? That information always makes her just a little big smug.

All thoughts of Sophie's previous boyfriends and smugness shoot straight out her brain as Sophie's hand wraps around her member once more, lightly stroking from bottom to top. Santana, for her part, slips her hand over Sophie's shoulder and down over her chest, cupping at her breast and rubbing a thumb over the hardened peak.

"Damn," Santana groans, surprised that Sophie's already worked up. How long has she been like that? "Eager much?"

Sophie smirks, twists and rises to her knees, leaning forward and supporting herself with one hand as she presses their lips together again, immediately parting Santana's lips with her tongue and stroking softly. It adds to the warm pool spreading in her lower gut and she ignores the fact that Sophie blanked her comment because shit, Sophie's working her just right – pinching at the tip and squeezing at the base.

So, she doesn't repeat it and throws her head back, arms slinking across the width of the back of the sofa.

Her girlfriend leans down, replaces her hands with her lips and sucking gently, and Santana just groans and lets her eyes shut.

Within what feels like a couple of minutes, Santana feels the pressure build to its highest point at the base of her spine, signaling her near ending and groans loudly as she comes in her girlfriend's mouth, tilting her head forward to watch Sophie take every last drop of her and swallowing.

That's something of a turn on Santana, and she almost gets hard just by watching it; but then the door bell rings and she lets out a breath of satisfaction, pinching Sophie's chin and bringing their mouths together in a soft peck before standing up, re-zipping her pants and heading for the door.

A young Asian guy is standing there when she opens it, and for a split second she wonders why the hell she's here; but time just flies by when you're having fun and suddenly it hits her that she ordered Chinese take-out. Rolling her eyes at herself, and smiling when she hears Sophie giggle from the sofa, she shoves her hand inside her pocket and grabs a twenty, handing it over to the guy and taking her food in the plastic bag.

She sits back down on the sofa, leaning over to kiss her girlfriend once more because Sophie hates the taste of Sweet'n'Sour Chicken and refuses to kiss Santana after she eats the stuff. But Mr. Chow's Sweet'N'Sour Chicken is like, to die for, and it's actually kind of worth giving up kissing her girlfriend for it. How bad is that?

Unpacking her dinner, Santana peers to her left and finds her girlfriend tapping away on her cell with great concentration. Cocking a brow, she tries to rise up a little to peer at the screen but Sophie notices too soon, and tilts it to the side, hiding it and turning to Santana with a too-sweet smile.

"You alright, babe?"

Santana squints, but shakes it off and pulls the paper wrapping off her chopsticks. "Yeah. Of course. Sorry."

Sophie just smiles in response and returns to her phone, and Santana shrugs because that was kind of weird, but whatever. She tucks into her chicken, pouring half the pot of noodles into it and begins to devour it, moaning as the food slides down the back of her throat and into her growling stomach. Lately, she barely eats a thing. Sophie's usually still at work or asleep after a (what she calls) long day, and so she never prepares a meal for Santana to come home to. Sometimes, if Santana's lucky, when she gets in the take-out restaurants are still open and she can order from there; but there are days where she comes home at 3am and there's nothing open. And God only knows she can't cook to save her life, so it just means going hungry. Probably why she always stays in shape all the time.

But she's become accustomed to the routine. She's one of the most renowned executives around at the major record label Millennium Records, and so what if it's a tough job and usually ends up giving her too-early mornings and too-late nights? She enjoys her job and it pays well. So she'll just have to get through it.

"Are you okay?"

Santana twists around, a noodle hanging out the side of her mouth which earns a giggle. "I'm good, thanks."

"Good."

Sophie returns to her phone and Santana sucks up the noodle, wiping the sauce of her chin before cocking her head to the side. "Oh, Soph, I forgot to say. Thank you for um," her eyes flicker down to her crotch. "You know."

She waggles both eyebrows and winks, which causes Sophie to let out a high-pitched chuckle. Santana's pretty sure that was the second most annoying laugh she'd ever heard, the first going to one Rachel Berry, but she's in love with Sophie. They've been together for under a year and she's already bought the $4000 engagement ring in preparation for tomorrow. Shit. She'd forgotten about that. Now she's nervous.

"You don't need to thank me honey," Sophie shrugs. "But it was my pleasure. You seemed like you needed it."

Santana grins and shoves another mouthful of noodle and chicken in her mouth before swallowing and taking a sip of her beer. She doesn't know why, but Brittany pops into her mind and she licks her lips, trying not to smile at the excitement curdling in the pit of her stomach.

"Oh, by the way tomorrow I invited Britt. Hope that's cool." Santana mumbles, eyes trained on Bree Van de Kamp on-screen as Desperate Housewives plays.

Everything's silent for a long moment, and so she pushes aside her half empty Chinese carton and turns to Sophie who's paused, fingers hovering over her Blackberry and eyes staring at the far wall of the living room. Santana reaches over, brushing her girlfriend's hair behind her ear and pulling on her shoulder gently, causing Sophie to look at her. What the hell?

"Soph?"

No response.

"Sophie?"

Still nothing.

"Earth to Sophie?" Santana leans forward, catching a look at the way Sophie's eyes are hazy like she's thinking deeply. She raises an eyebrow. "You're starting to scare me."

Her girlfriend shakes herself out of it and lets her eyes fall on Santana's. "You invited Brittany?" She asks, slightly angrily. "As in your best friend, Brittany?"

Santana nods, feeling slightly uneasy with where this conversation's going. What's wrong with inviting Brittany? "Yeah…"

"Tomorrow," Sophie repeats, voice hardening. "She's coming tomorrow?"

There's something resembling jealously flashing behind Sophie's green eyes and Santana frowns and leans towards her girlfriend, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and then trailing her lips backwards towards her ear. "Is that a problem?"

"No." Sophie responds, pushing Santana away and standing abruptly.

And it's probably the strangest reaction Sophie's ever had to something Santana's said, and she traces over in her mind, trying to find an error in her words. But there's nothing so she stands and snakes her arms around her girlfriend's waist, resting them on the her stomach and resting her chin on a bony shoulder.

"Sophie, what's wrong? Did I do something?"

Sophie pushes out Santana's embrace and turns. She narrows her eyes and raises an eyebrow as she takes not of the infuriated twinge to her girlfriend's green eyes.

"Why did you think of Brittany?"

Santana's face drops. That really hadn't been what she'd expected. "Excuse me?"

"You went from me giving you head–" Sophie snaps, crossing her arms and cocking her hip out to the side. "–To Brittany."

Not seeing the problem, Santana purses her lips and nods. "So?" She draws out the word, really not understanding her girlfriend's point.

"So," Sophie mimics in the same way Santana said it. "Does that mean were you thinking of her whilst I was..."

Santana's eyebrows meet her hairline and her mouth drops open as her girlfriend waves her hand down towards her crotch. Involuntarily, a giggle escapes her lips and she finds herself almost doubled over in laughter. It's literally the last thing she thought would've come out of her girlfriend's mouth. No, scratch that. It wasn't even a possibility hanging in the back of her mind and now she's laughing uncontrollably.

"Wha–" Santana chuckles through her words. "What!?"

Apparently it's only amusing on one side because Sophie tightens her biceps and jaw, all seriousness etching across her features. And Santana realizes that, yeah, shit, her girlfriend is actually asking her this question. The smile drops from her face and she steps forward, arms out and palms up, head tilting slowly to the side. "You're actually serious, right now?"

"Obviously."

Slowly and cautiously, Santana makes her way over to Sophie and rests both hands on her hips when she gets there. Her fingertips press lightly into the fabric of her girlfriend's shirt, and she pulls their bodies a little closer together. "Babe" –she inwardly cringes– "I was on the phone to Britt earlier. She just popped into my mind."

"Just after getting a blowjob from your girlfriend?" Sophie counters, shoving Santana away as her face twists with anger.

And it comes to Santana that yeah, technically speaking, her girlfriend has a point. It was a bit strange that she thought of Brittany after just remembering that her girlfriend went down on her, but, it's harmless. It's not like she was thinking about Brittany during, nor was she trying to imagine that it was Brittany doing it. Just that she happened to remember the phone conversation she had with her best friend at a really bad time; a matter of inconvenience, Santana thinks.

Judging by the way Sophie's staring at her though, she needs to answer. Quickly. And right now she doesn't know what to say. Her girlfriend's being ridiculous, and that's the bottom line.

So she says just that. "Sophie you're being ridiculous."

"And you've been talking about 'Brittany this' and 'Brittany that' for five weeks straight!"

Santana rolls her eyes, moving back towards the sofa and throwing herself down on it. She's really not in the mood for an argument. She physically has no energy to start or finish one; especially one that she's had countless times. But it's inevitable. She can see it in her girlfriend's eyes and the way Sophie's shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

"I've always been 'Brittany this' and 'Brittany that' as you say. She's my best friend and I haven't seen her in a year and a half. You're just being paranoid."

"Exactly," Sophie steps forward. "You haven't seen her in a year and a half. It's not like it's been decades, Santana."

"So? For me and Britt it basically is decades! So I'm allowed to talk about her, thank you."

Sophie raises a brow, clearly unamused. "So after tomorrow night, when you see her, you'll stop talking about her?"

There's a challenge being offered right there, and Santana leans up onto her elbows to peer over the back of the couch at her girlfriend. Sure enough, Sophie's standing expectantly, with anger and jealousy radiating off her and it really pisses Santana off. Pisses her off more than before being since day one she told Sophie about Brittany. She told Sophie that Brittany was her best friend of seventeen years and Brittany will always be at the top of her list. That was one of the first things she ever did with women because that was usually the reason for weirdness in any relationship: the insecurity of the relationship between Brittany and Santana.

So when Sophie throws a tantrum like this, like a little freaking kid, and starts to bitch about Santana and Brittany's relationship, Santana gets really fucking annoyed. She fucking told her this. If she had a problem she could've walked away a long time ago.

"Stop being so damn jealous, Sophie," she spits. "You've never even met her."

Sophie's eyebrow raises. "So that's a no, then?" She asks, knowing the answer. "You won't stop talking about her?"

Sighing, Santana swings her legs over the side of the couch and buries her face into her hands. "Sophie... She's my best friend," she tells her. Again. "She has been for seventeen years and that's not going to change." She lifts her head and focuses her vision on her girlfriend, trying to keep her voice level. Shouting probably wouldn't help right now. "It's never bothered you before and you said you were okay with it."

"Maybe I'm not now."

Santana abruptly stands and balls her fists by her thighs. "And maybe I'm not okay with you not being okay about it, now. I told you Brittany was at the top of my list when we first met and that hasn't changed. I don't get why you're bringing it up now."

Silence comes from her girlfriend and Santana has to close her eyes and turn away to allow some of the anger to drown from her body. She needs to calm down. How did it even get to this? One moment she was coming home, having some intimate time with Sophie and then ordering a take-out, and the next Sophie's yelling her ear off and bringing up things Santana warned her about a long time ago. She just doesn't get it.

It's about two minutes later when Sophie replies, and just by one look at her face, Santana can tell that this is going to be the end of the argument. Especially because it hits her what she said and what that means.

"Is she above me, then?" Sophie asks in that same challenging tone, her whole body tensing when she takes in Santana's immediate facial reaction.

Because Santana's tired of having this argument. She's tired of having to explain her and Brittany's platonic yet incredibly close friendship and she's tired of telling Sophie that Brittany's above her on her list because that will never change, and it's like Sophie's asking because she wants that to change.

So ,that's why she stares her girlfriend straight in the eye and will all the sincerity in the world says, "Yes. She's above you."

And it has the exact impact she thought, because Sophie's eyes drift away, her jaw clenching tightly in anger and disappointment and then she storms off towards the bedroom, slamming the door loudly. Santana exhales, knowing she's going to pay for that later but feels no regret for telling the truth, and heads towards the bathroom, grabbing a blanket and a pillow from the cupboard, stripping down to her boxers and tank top and settles down on the couch for a very uncomfortable night's sleep.

The next morning when she wakes, her back aches like a mother.

She stretches her body and rolls her head to rid the kink in her neck, which only happened 'cause the pillow fell off and she ended up craning and resting her neck upon the arm of the couch, and sits up.

That was such a bad night's sleep it was unreal. She could have had a good night's sleep if it weren't for that stupid fight last night. She knows she could've. But she still doesn't regret what she said and even if she's about to go and apologize, she doesn't believe she was in the wrong.

Grudgingly, she pushes up from the sofa, rubs the back of her neck with one hand and pushes up with the other until she's on her feet, heading for the bedroom. It's only 8am, and she could totally fit in another two or three hours sleep as long as Sophie lets her come back to bed. If not, she guesses she'll just have to start the party preparation as there's no way in hell she can sleep on that sofa anymore.

She approaches the door and almost turns away – thinking that this might lead to another argument and with Brittany and Sophie meeting tonight, she doesn't want Sophie to be pissy and to accidentally let it out on Brittany – but then she figures if she goes in now, she could sort it out and they'd be all good for the party tonight. Which is something they need to be considering Santana's plans.

So she sucks it up and brings her fist up to rap on the door a few times. "Sophie?"

No response follows and so she assumes her girlfriend's still asleep, and presses her hand flat against the door to push it open. Like she thought, Sophie's curled up on the right side of the bed, fast asleep, and Santana creeps in quietly, not shutting the door in case it clicks loudly and makes her way to Sophie, perching on the mattress by her hip. She reaches over to brush a lock of hair away from her girlfriend's face and tucks it behind her ear, letting her fingertips linger along Sophie's freckled cheeks.

"Honey, wake up," she whispers.

Sophie stirs and a few seconds later, her eyes crack open to stare up at Santana. It takes another few seconds before the previous night comes back to her girlfriend, and Santana can see the last remnants of anger burning behind Sophie's eyes. So instead of beating around the bush, she dives straight into the apology and slides her hand down to her girlfriends, tangling their fingers together despite Sophie's reluctance.

"I'm sorry," she says, trying to pour fake honesty into her tone. "I was cranky last night."

Sophie's jaw clenches and she shuffles, backing up against the headboard whilst she toys with the back of Santana's fingers. "It's okay," she says, lowly. "I'm sorry, too."

It's relieving, but Santana knows that's not the end. If only things were that easy.

"I didn't mean what I said," she continues.

Sophie's brows furrow. "Which part?"

Santana pushes her tongue up against the inside of her teeth and sorts through her mind, trying to figure out which path would lead to another argument and which would lead up to making up. There is that part of her that doesn't want to lie, because ultimately, Brittany is on top of her list and always will be, despite Sophie being her girlfriend and hopefully, soon-to-be-fiancée. That's something that isn't going to change because Brittany's always been the only consistent and trustworthy thing in Santana's life and it's going to stay that way, regardless of Sophie's objections.

But she knows if she says that it's going to lead to another argument, and she just can't deal with that right now. So she lies.

"You are the top of my list."

Sophie's green eyes flicker towards her hesitantly. "What about Brittany?"

Santana clenches her jaw against the bitterness in her girlfriend's voice, but smiles up at her girlfriend and just repeats what she said before, "You are the top of my list," because it's the only thing she can say that won't start an argument.

A wide grin spreads across Sophie's face and she grins, leaning in to kiss Santana. "Okay. Good."

She smiles into the kiss and feels hands grab at her biceps, pulling until she's falling on top of Sophie and settle between her legs. Sophie seems to want more because her nails scratch down Santana's neck, and Santana's not even entirely sure she can do anything right now. She's so damn tired and even though her hardening member isn't saying the same thing, she's not really up for sex.

"Soph–" she mumbles against Sophie's lips "–Sophie."

Sophie pulls back with a frown and half-hooded eyes, and Santana has to admit, it's kind of a turn on. Involuntarily, her hips press down and bring a hiss out of her girlfriend, and she almost rolls her eyes at herself. Always ruled by her dick and not her head. She's sure that's going to get her in trouble one day.

"I'm not sure I can perform," she says. "I got like no sleep last night."

Sophie studies her for a long moment but then a seductive smirk tugs at her lips and Santana manages to tilt her head to the side to silently question her, but that's as far as she gets before her girlfriend's pushing up and flipping them, throwing a leg either side of her hip and grinding down against the bulge in Santana's boxers. Their lips meet again and hands tug her arms upwards until they're raised above her head, pinned against the pillow as Sophie dips down and starts sucking at her neck.

"That's fine, baby," Sophie mutters against tanned skin. "I'll do all the work."

The arousal is something she just can't fight, and as her mind drifts to the party tonight and the list of things she should probably be doing right now instead of this, Brittany suddenly comes to mind and it's like the heat inside her doubles. She grunts, rolling her hips and widens her eyes at her body's reaction to her best friend. But she shakes it off quickly, knowing there's a smoking hot woman on top of her, reaching down beneath the band of boxers and grabbing her, and she puts it down to that.

She considers for a second telling Sophie that they'll have time for that after the party, but then Sophie pulls her panties aside and rubs Santana through the wetness between her legs, and well, Santana's not going to complain. So she steals a quick glance at the alarm on the side to check how long they have before she leans up and presses their lips together whilst one hand comes down between their bodies to guide herself into her girlfriend.

She tries not to focus on the reason the arousal doubled inside of her when she thought of the party tonight.


	2. Chapter Two

It's 8pm, and Santana's up on the roof of her building.

There's a swimming pool to her left, a dance floor in front of her, and a whole lot of people scattered around both areas, brandishing glasses and drinks. Several waiters are moving around the crowd, wearing white shirts and black vests, and the only damn reason they're here is because Sophie insisted on hiring them even though Santana clearly pointed out that she could do their job for free.

(Not that she'd want to but still, that wasn't the point.)

Except Sophie went decided to play dirty – literally – and paused two seconds before Santana was going to blow her load, took her lips away from Santana's cock and smirked, asking if the waiters were a good idea now. Due to the sexual blackmail, and Santana's need to come, she'd just nodded vigorously and pulled Sophie's head back down to resume her previous actions until she got her release.

Although it worked two ways, because when Santana was returning the favor only a few moments later, she took her tongue out from between Sophie's legs and told her how much she wanted a DJ to play at the party, preferably hip-hop as it's her favorite and Sophie had groaned, realized she was just paying her back and gave in to Santana's wishes.

And so what if that was stooping as low as Sophie in terms of sexual blackmail? It worked and now she's standing beside the pool, bobbing her head along to a mash-up of her three friends: Kanye, Eminem and Ludacris.

Oral can go two ways, you know.

Sophie's beside her, looking smoking hot in a tight silver dress that accentuates her feminine assets (mainly her boobs and ass if Santana's honest) and Santana's wearing dark skinny jeans, a black blazer and a cream party top that gives her skin the 'holiday look' to make up for the lack of vacation in the summer just gone.

After she and Sophie wave off two of Santana's colleagues, and point them in the direction of the bar being tended by a tall, dark and handsome bartender, Sophie leans in, lips ghosting over the shell of Santana's ear and whispers, "Is everyone here yet?"

Santana can tell her girlfriend's getting a little impatient but she doesn't know. "I don't know," she shrugs and slides her hand down Sophie's arm, tangling their fingers together and squeezing gently. "How many people were invited?"

"A hundred or so?"

A quick scan of the area and a guesstimate of how many people are already at the party, she turns back to her girlfriend and nods. "I think pretty much everyone is here. Except Britt of course."

Out the corner of her eyes she catches the way something hardens behind Sophie's green eyes, and Santana tugs gently on her hand, pulling their bodies together and nuzzling their noses affectionately. "Honey, don't do that."

"I know, I know," Sophie forces a smile. "Sorry, I'm just nervous I guess."

Santana kisses her girlfriend quickly. "What are you nervous about?

"Meeting Brittany."

Dark eyebrows pull together. "For real? Why?"

Sophie doesn't respond straight away, just peers over Santana's shoulder and puts some space between their bodies as she tugs them towards the drink table by the pool – the one that's not being tended.

"I don't know," she says when they get there, picking up two glasses and setting them in front of Santana. "I guess it's just like the final test. I mean, I've already met your mom and brother–"

"And she liked you," Santana interjects, picking up the bottle of vodka and pouring two shots into each cup.

"Yeah but it's not the same," Sophie says, a little dryly. She reaches for the orange juice carton in the back and opens it, handing it to her girlfriend. "I don't know... I just–Apart from me she's like, the most important person in your life and it's nerve-wracking."

For a few seconds, Santana's mind begins to wander off with that thought. Brittany is actually in fact the only persons opinion she really cares about – bar Sophie's of course. Her parents weren't exactly supportive of her when she came out the flannel infested closet, but she never cared because she didn't really know what they were expecting considering her situation.

In her mind she's gone over the possibilities thousands of times, but it's just got to the point where she can't give a crap. Her mom isn't a parent to her, and it's a long time gone anyway because she now has more important people in her life. Like Sophie and of course, Brittany.

"...So I guess Brittany's opinion is like... The most important."

Santana manages to hear that last part, and shakes herself out her thoughts to focus on the current conversation. Her eyes drift down to her hand and she finds a cup in her hand, filled with orange juice and vodka and when her eyes slide to the right she finds Sophie sipping on her own. The roof also seems to be more crowded and the music's now a notch louder, and she wonders how long she was out for. At least a few minutes, apparently.

"It's be fine, Soph," Santana reassures, reaching up to cup her girlfriend's cheek with her free hand. "She'll love you."

"How do you know?"

Sophie seems more nervous than Santana ever predicted, and she can't help but wonder if the nerves have come from last night's argument. No, that's a stupid idea. It's not possible because that'd mean Sophie's jealous of a person she's never ever met, and it's not even like there's a reason to be jealous.

Brittany's not a threat.

Hell, she'll probably help Sophie if anything.

So Santana smiles, pecks a quick kiss to Sophie's lips and threads their fingers together again. "Because I love you and so she will too."

A grin spreads across Sophie's face and she rocks up, letting their lips meet again but in a kiss that lingers a lot longer than the last one. Neither of them wants to break, and Santana giggles when a soft tongue runs along her bottom lip, knowing she's going to have to put her cup down to keep this kiss up. So she does just that and wraps her arms around Sophie's waist, pulling their hips together and deepening the kiss until a cough interrupts them and forces them to break.

Both their heads turn and find a large muscular figure standing next to them, eyebrows wagging and a glint in his eyes.

"Puck?" Santana breathes, releasing her girlfriend and throwing her arms around her friend. "Shit, you actually came."

Puck chuckles and pulls away, his hands staying on Santana's biceps as he does a once over on his body. "Not yet, but if I look at you a little longer I might."

Disgusted, Santana slugs him in the arm and scoffs. Puck's been her friend for as long as Brittany has, although their friendship hasn't been quite as strong. Nowhere near as strong, actually. She thinks it could be because she chose not to reveal the secret between her legs to him, fearing his reaction, and that sort of made them stay at arms length from each other.

Although there are definitely another few reasons that've occurred over their past that have contributed to their distant friendship. They're ones she doesn't really want to think about though. They're in the past and they're going to stay there.

But they're still good friends. And it's so amusing to watch Puck make a complete fool of himself as he makes suggestive comments about getting into her pants, because if he ever did and actually saw what was in there, his face would definitely be a memorable one.

"Shut up you pervert," she jokes and twists to the side, revealing her girlfriend. "But now I want you to meet my girlfriend, Sophie Bexler." She sends her girlfriend a quick wink and sidles up beside her, throwing an arm around Sophie's waist. "And Sophie, meet the biggest predatory asshole I know: Noah Puckerman."

Sophie and Puck chuckle, and Sophie grins as she offers out a hand. "Please to meet you, Noah," she says and Santana watches Puck's eyes trail over the length of her girlfriend's body, lingering around the chest region.

"No, gorgeous, it's all my pleasure," he purrs and Santana tightens her grip around Sophie's waist, not trusting Puck whatsoever.

Except Sophie must find it endearing – God knows why – and giggles at the guy, and then they begin chatting away – small talk about professions and whatnot – and soon enough they get on to the subject of modelling, and Puck tells Sophie how he's one of the senior members of the Elite Model Management, one of the most prestigious modelling networks around, and Sophie tells him how much she would like to be a model herself, since being a stock-broker is unsurprising monotonous.

It's not that bad though, because Santana thinks Puck might finally come in useful for once.

As they chat, a few more people begin to filter in and Santana notes how rude it is to not greet them as the host and leaves Puck and Sophie to whatever they're conversing about. She manages to catch up on all the new faces and greets each one, kissing some on the cheek and shaking some of their hands, and when she's just about to find the last guest to walk through the door, she feels it.

It's a familiar presence, a warm presence, and she's been able to feel it since she was seven years old. The atmosphere spikes around her, and it makes this ridiculous grin cross over her face because she knows that someone else has arrived. Someone important.

Twisting around, she rocks on to the balls of her feet to scan the crowd, trying to pinpoint the source of that change in the atmosphere.

And that's when she sees her. Right by the door, clutching a bag by her thighs and chewing nervously on her bottom lip.

Santana smiles to herself and breathes out steadily, weaving her way through several people to get to her best friend. It's like a need, and she's never tested how long she can stay away from Brittany but she bets her bottom dollar she wouldn't last ten seconds without the need getting too much, and without her caving in and searching frantically for Brittany.

She gets closer and closer, and the grin on her face grows with the minimising distance. It's been so long since she last saw Brittany, and looking at her now, she can't really believe that she's about to see her. Admittedly, it hasn't been like, a decade or whatever, but it's been a fair eighteen months and in Brittany and Santana terms, that's way too fucking long. A week of not seeing each other feels like a year, so a year and a half is like, well, a decade.

And so now, making her way to Brittany with her eyes firmly locked on to her, Santana's fucking elated.

Brittany's eyes survey the party, and she's yet to notice Santana staring at her from across the pool, but Santana doesn't mind all that much because she allows her gaze to trail down Brittany's body – taking in the sight of her best friend in a short, white dress that hugs Brittany's ass and hands loose around the bust. There's a good amount of cleavage showing, but luckily the loose ringlets in golden hair cascade over the majority of it, so Santana doesn't have to worry about kicking anyone's ass tonight if they're caught ogling her best friend.

Finishing the trail, Santana begins to move again and only stops when she's around two metres away from the girl. Her head tilts to the side and it takes her a long moment to bring herself out of staring – since a year and a half can change a person so much that Santana finds herself basically drooling over her best friend – but she can't help but notice the subtle changes in Brittany.

Like the way her blonde hair is a few shades brighter, the way her blue eyes are brighter too, and how there's a weird sense of maturity to her stature. There are physical changes too, like the way her arms are more toned, and how her legs seem longer too, and even though Santana was like, a hundred percent sure it wasn't possible, Brittany's even more beautiful than she was eighteen months ago.

Still not sensing Santana's gaze, Brittany turns her head and for the first time, Santana notices there's someone standing beside her best friend. Her heartbeat quickens as the possibility of a date runs through her mind, but then that's removed promptly when Brittany shifts and Rachel Berry is revealed.

She laughs to herself and shakes her head, feeling her heart return to its natural rhythm and the insults form on the tip of her tongue – because whenever Berry's around that just kind of happens – and her legs begin to move towards Brittany when there's a tap on her shoulder.

She whirls around to find her boss, Gerry, standing directly behind her and her eyes flicker from side to side. What does he want?

"Gerry," she says with a fake cheer to her voice. "I'm glad you could make it."

Her boss, being the jerk he is, completely disregards her greeting and grabs a champagne flute off one of the passing waiters, sipping on it with his stubble covered mouth. He really is one of the most disgusting men Santana's ever seen.

"Santana..." Gerry starts, sniffling and clears his throat noisily. "I hear you've been looking for some new meat to sign?"

She nods, but it's mostly out of politeness because she doesn't really give a shit what her boss is talking about. She's so focused on the buzzing need to find her best friend that only one of her ears is trained on him, whilst all her other senses are locked onto finding Brittany.

"Well–" Gerry shoves his thick, meaty hand deep into his pocket and fumbles with the fabric nearing his crotch. He makes a low, gutteral sound and Santana almost pukes right then and there, knowing he probably just brushed his hand against his cock or something.

Seriously, she doesn't get that whole fiddling with your bits thing, because she's got a dick and never once in her entire life has she ever felt the need to stick her hand in her pocket and check it's like, still there. She can't even begin to think about how many men she's seen walking down the street with their hands in their pockets, obviously fiddling around with their junk in plain sight. Fucking seriously, it's gross.

Her brain manages to cut off the little rant at the same time her boss goes quiet, and it hits her that she has absolutely no idea what he was just talking about or why he's staring at her expectantly. Shit. Why doesn't she ever pay attention?

"Definitely, Sir." She goes for an easy response, hoping it's the right one. "If you get a memo to Jenny then I'll sort that right out."

There's a few tense seconds, which feel like hours, where Santana wonders if she just made herself look like a complete tit, but then Gerry puffs out, releasing some cigar smoke she didn't know he was holding and smiles, revealing yellow, plaque covered teeth that only add to the curdling need to vomit inside of Santana.

And as she nods, and her eyes lock on to the golden band wrapped around his sausage like finger, Santana feels a pang of sympathy for his wife.

"Good, Lopez. I'll see you Monday."

Gerry turns, resting his free hand on his extending stomach whilst the other, clutching a thick, Cuban cigar reaches out to grab a few snacks on a passing food platter. And Santana takes this moment to dart away, ditching her boss in favor of a quick escape from the world's most disgusting boss, and begins her search for her best friend once more.

It doesn't take long, because her eyes drift over to the bar immediately and Brittany's there, perched on one of the stools with one of her long legs crossed over the other, revealing the smooth skin of her bare thigh. Her elbow's resting on the bar top, and her chin's in her hand and Santana has to admit, her best friend seems kind of bummed out. It makes Santana's heart clench and she walks over there, watching the handsome bartender finish wiping one of the glasses before throwing the rag over his shoulder and approaching Brittany, palms resting on the counter top with the upper half of his torso leans towards Brittany.

If she didn't know any better she'd think the bartender was about to hit on her best friend.

"What are you drinking, beautiful?" The bartender asks, and Santana raises a brow, picking up the speed of her steps until she's sliding in beside her best friend, one arm wrapping around the small of Brittany's back whilst the other curls on top of the bar, hand waving around carelessly.

"Um, that'll be a Perfect Ten for my best friend here," Santana says, cutting in on Brittany's answer.

Brittany doesn't even need to look at her to know who it is and smirks, keeping eye contact with the bartender. "And a Ketel One Martini up with a twist for my best friend."

A pressure lifts of Santana's chest as Brittany hops down from the stool, and Santana eyes the way her best friend tugs at the bottom of her dress to keep it from riding up. She smiles quickly, but it's quickly replaced by the feeling of warmth as Brittany steps into her personal space, and it hits Santana just how much she's missed her best friend. And now that she's back, it feels like a missing piece of Santana's puzzle has been returned back to where it belongs.

"You better hug me," Santana says, sounding like she's joking but knowing she's not.

Brittany chuckles and steps into Santana's arms as she opens them, and then they're hugging tightly, pale arms winding around Santana's neck and tanned arms slipping around the blonde girl's waist. The overflowing scent of honey and almond wafts through Santana's nostrils, and she feels her entire body relax because Brittany's here. Brittany's back, in her arms, and she's burying her face into Santana's shoulders, giggling as Santana squeezes their bodies together closely.

"As if I wouldn't," Brittany counters, squeezing one last time before pulling away, leaving her palms of Santana's biceps.

Santana does the same, but the grip's on her best friend's waist, and she applies the lightest of pressures through her fingertips as her eyes rake over Brittany's body once more. From far away Brittany was attractive, but up close she's stupidly gorgeous. So much so that Santana can actually feel her pants getting that bit tighter and she's in the middle of a freaking party. Not to mention that it's due to her best friend and that she has a girlfriend.

Nope, that's not bad at all.

"You look so good, Britt-Britt," Santana says, trying to distract herself from the way she's pressing up against her boxers.

A blush covers pale cheeks, and Brittany dips her head down, tugging her bottom lip between white teeth whilst she subtly does a once over on Santana. For a second Santana panics, fearing she's showing through her jeans, but then she thinks how obvious it'd be if she took a quick peek and checked.

Honestly, there are so many complications to having a dick.

"You look better, Santana."

The smile on Santana's face falls as she hears her best friend speak so softly. So honestly.

She peers up through her lashes, staring deeply into Brittany's eyes because she sees something. Something she can't quite figure out; which is strange because she's always, always been able to tell what Brittany's thinking or feeling at any given moment. It's something she prides herself on and now there's this weird tension settling in the atmosphere around and she can't quite figure out why it's doing that.

It gets so strange and so heavy, that she doesn't even notice as her hands begin to fall from Brittany's waist, and slip down towards her hips. She doesn't even notice Brittany's arms falling slack on her arms too because she's so engorged in the way Brittany's trying to tell her something with her eyes that everything else is dull and blurry around her.

That's quickly broken though when a warm pair of arms slip around her neck, and hands clutch at her chin, twisting it until she's pulled in for a kiss. A soft pair of lips press against her own, and it takes a second to recognize them – because it's Sophie obviously – and she kisses back briefly before pulling away, still very aware of the fact that Brittany's standing in front of them.

"There you are!" It's said in false anger, and Santana chuckles a little. "Babe, seriously, how could you leave me with Puck! He's such a dirty pig! He was talking about how hot a sex sandwich between me, you and him would be, as long as he was the filling!"

Santana grins and snakes her arms around her girlfriend's waist, pulling her close. It gets Sophie's attention because suddenly she's staring down at her quizzically and Santana can only offer a head tilt towards Brittany...

…Who's sucking on her bottom lip and looking all kinds of uncomfortable.

Santana's smile falters, but she shakes it off, knowing how uncomfortable it would be if she was in Brittany's position too, and addresses her girlfriend. "Sophie, I'd like you to meet someone special..."

Sophie's eyes focus on Santana for a long moment before they finally dart away, flicking to Brittany. Realization flashes across her face and she spins to face Brittany, face brightening up into a smile. "Oh my God!" She half-yells. "Is this Brittany?" She asks Brittany, but she's focused on Santana. "As in the Brittany? Oh my! I've heard so much about you!"

The thing that Santana forgot to mention to Brittany when inviting her to this party was the whole Sophie thing. She didn't tell her that she had a girlfriend, and had done for quite a while now. She forgot to mention that and now Brittany's stealing a quick glance that says you haven't told me about her before the polite switch flicks on and she's grinning wildly at Sophie, taking the offered hand and shaking it.

"I can't believe you're here!" Sophie continues, excitedly. "I can't believe I'm finally meeting you! I've been looking so forward to it!"

There's laughter coming from both Brittany and Santana, yet there's something wholly awkward about the entire situation. She doesn't know why, it's not like Brittany's never met any of her previous girlfriends, but she thinks it might have something to do with the fact that she not only forgot to tell Brittany about Sophie, but that she had an argument with Sophie over Brittany about who was more important.

"Sorry," Sophie says, trying to calm down. "It's just so good to meet you, I've heard so much."

Brittany's eyes flicker to Santana again, and Santana can't help but feel uneasy about the situation. But Brittany's always been the one to save Santana and smiles anyway, obviously wanting to say the same thing back but knowing she can't. It makes Santana's chest pang with quick and she crinkles her nose against it as Sophie's arm hugs her waist tightly.

"Well hopefully it's not all too bad," Brittany jokes with a forced cheeriness that only Santana would be able to pick up on.

Although for some reason she decides not to notice, and instead focuses on scanning around the party as Sophie and Brittany continue to converse for a few moments. Over in the corner of the party, by the untended bar, she sees Rachel dancing away with a guy, and when she twists around, Santana recognizes the guy to be Puck and can't help but chortle a little. That would be just hilarious to see.

She tunes back in to the conversation going on beside her, apparently at the wrong moment because Sophie and Brittany are talking about their dresses.

"I just can't compete with you in that dress," Brittany comments, standing back and gesturing to Sophie's silver dress.

But Sophie cocks a brow and presses both hands to her hips. "As if, Brittany. You're beautiful."

Santana catches the way Sophie's gaze lingers a little longer over Brittany's body than a once over is supposed to, and Brittany shoots her a quick curious glare, noticing too.

That's another thing Santana loves about Brittany; they both notice things that no-one else does.

"Something Santana never thought to mention to me," Sophie lets out, and it sounds like she's a little jealous.

The air around them suddenly seems quite hot, and Santana's throat thickens as she tries to swallow against it. She thought not mentioning how hot Brittany was a good thing, because it meant that Santana didn't notice. Although now as she repeats the tone of her girlfriend's voice over and over, she thinks that maybe that wasn't such a good idea. It could have meant that she did notice, and was obviously so aware of it that if she did mention it, Sophie would go off on one about Santana thinking someone else was hotter than she was.

No that she thinks Brittany's hotter than Sophie or anything.

Either way, though, she knows she wouldn't have won whether she told Sophie about Brittany's beauty or not.

"I, uh, guess it never came up," she lands on, shrugging and trying to seem as cool as possible.

Sophie doesn't relax, but Santana doesn't have time to make a joke about it or anything before hands are grabbing the lapels of her blazer and pulling her forward into a lingering kiss that last a lot longer than appropriate when in front of someone else. She kisses back, not wanting to reject Sophie but half-way through it, her eye cracks open and she peers at Brittany who's looking around the party with zero interest and clearly trying to disengage from the awkwardness of seeing two people make out right in front of her.

Santana pulls back first, and she watches Sophie cock her head to the side and grin quickly.

"I've gotta go and see Mark about work on Monday," her girlfriend says and kisses her once more before spinning off, touching Brittany's arm and shooting her a grin that says nice to meet you instead of works. Santana's not sure Sophie was glad to meet her. Not after that kissing stunt she just pulled.

"She seems... nice," Brittany says, sliding back on to the stool she was previously occupying.

Santana picks up her drink, nods at the bartender with a put it on my tab look and takes a long sip. "Yeah... She's pretty amazing," she says, leaning against the bar and watching Sophie as she makes her way through the crowd, laughing and grinning with a few people.

"Amazing?"

"Yeah."

Brittany's face is showing nothing but shock, even as she brings the rim of her glass to her lips and tips it back. "That's not a word I've heard you describe any of your girlfriends before."

Santana's heart flutters as she thinks that no, she hasn't ever described anyone else like that. Apart from Brittany of course, but that's because she is an amazing best friend. "Well Sophie isn't like any of the others."

"Really?"

She glances up to catch Brittany fiddling with the hem of her dress and brings her eyebrows together. "Yeah. Are you okay?"

"Of course," Brittany responds, maybe a little too quickly.

Santana shifts but doesn't press on anymore. Her mind begins to wander and she starts to think about Brittany's words. Sophie isn't like anyone she's ever met, and she is amazing. There's something that's a little off about her best friend's reaction to her girlfriend, but it won't stop her from proceeding with the plans she's already made for tonight.

Four months. That's all it took to fall in love with Sophie, and Santana knew after one night when she was lying in bed, running her fingers up and down her girlfriend's back that she wanted that. Just that, with Sophie. Forever.

Which is why her left blazer pocket feels like a million tonnes right now.

Except as she stands here, one hand resting inside said pocket, fingers trailing around the box, she wonders how she's going to tell Brittany. Not telling her about having a long-term girlfriend was crappy all by itself, but leaving out the fact that's she's going to propose? That'd be a really shitty thing to do.

And there's not like there's a reason she shouldn't tell Brittany about it, right? Even standing here right now, she's not sure why she didn't tell Brittany about dating Sophie.

Knowing she'll have to get it over and done with, she inhales deeply and purses her lips into an 'o' shape, blowing the air out her lungs at the same time she shuffles forward, closing in on her best friend. She glances at Brittany hesitantly, worrying her teeth between her bottom lip and fingers the edge of the small, velvet box in her pocket. Her heart's pounding like, a mile a minute and there's a light layer of sweat forming on her brow.

Fuck. She's nervous.

Like, really nervous.

For some reason though, she doesn't feel nervous about the proposing itself. But she has no idea what else it could be so she rids the thoughts from her mind and curls her hand around the box inside her pocket, pulling it out.

"Hey, Britt?" She whispers, twisting her body and passes the box in her hands so it settles in her other palm. "I wanna show you something."

Without glancing up at her best friend, she shifts at an angle to make sure Sophie can't see her body from wherever she is, and flips the lid open, revealing a sparkling silver band with a large diamond encrusted on the top. She takes in a deep breath and looks up, watching blue eyes zone on to it immediately, Brittany's mouth gaping open as her head ducks and twists like she can't quite tell what's going on. Santana was expecting her to be speechless and shocked, but she wasn't sure herself what she was going to say to continue the conversation so she just waits.

"Is that what I think it is...?" Brittany asks, tentatively, looking up through long lashes.

Santana's eyes drift back to the ring. "Yeah," she mumbles, voice low. "I'm thinking about doing it tonight."

"What!?"

She snaps the box shut and shoves it back in her pocket, straightening up and flexing her back because she can feel the tension building up in her muscles due to the nerves she feels. Brittany leans forward and stares incredulously at Santana, and Santana's not sure why she's being stared at like this. Isn't proposing a good thing? Shouldn't Brittany be happy for her?

Sure, it's a lot to take for Brittany. Not only is she finding out that Santana has a long-term girlfriend, but she's also finding out she's proposing to a woman Brittany's only just met.

Santana shouldn't feel bad though. She shouldn't. So what if she's been spending years having one night stands, and then suddenly finds a woman that makes her happy? That's what happens, right? That's how people get married, and yeah, it might be a little soon because she and Sophie haven't known each other for that long, but it's love.

So why does she feel guilty?

"Are you serious?" Brittany asks, like she needs to hear it again.

Santana feels a tightness in her chest and almost rolls her eyes at it. Her eyes roam around the party, landing on Sophie who's just inside the glass doors leading to the toilets, chatting away to the guy Santana guesses is Mark – she won't lie she doesn't pay much attention to Sophie's job – and suddenly the tightness in her chest becomes more than overwhelming. Her heart is throbbing loudly against her ribcage and her teeth are biting so hard into her bottom lip she's sure she could draw blood.

"Uh," she clears her throat. "Yeah. Tonight. I'm doing it," she confirms, eyes drifting back to Brittany.

"But, San..." Brittany shifts in her seat, seeming unsure. "You've known her for like... five minutes?"

There's a split second where Santana thinks she sees jealousy flashing across her best friend's face, but then it's gone and Brittany's staring at her, blinking away and giving her that duh expression that always makes Santana want to laugh. Great, Santana thinks. She's so nervous now she's actually hallucinating.

"I know, Britt," she breathes out, smoothing out her forehead. "I know I haven't known her for that long but... She's the one." She begins to nod, to herself or to Brittany, she's not sure. "She's my lobster."

Brittany's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. "She's your lobster? Seriously?"

It's a long running thing they have between them, the whole lobster thing.

Back when they were both sixteen, they were lounging around on the couch watching re-runs of Friends when the episode with the prom video came on, and it included Phoebe convincing Ross that Rachel is his lobster. That'd led to Brittany nudging Santana in the thigh with her bare foot and asking if she believed in lobsters.

Santana had laughed and told her that yeah, she did because her brother went to the West Indies and caught some huge ass lobster, but then Brittany had whined through a laugh and said that she meant the Friends kind of lobster. The one where each person had someone they were destined to be with. Had a person that was their lobster since it was fact that lobsters fall in love and mate for life, then apparently walk around their tank with their claws locked because they're never going to part.

And up until now, Santana never really thought about it because she didn't believe in the whole soul mates thing. But now Sophie's here and she's sure it's true.

"Yeah, Britt," she says after a low chuckle, scratching her eyebrow. "She's my lobster."

Blue eyes widen for a long moment, then return to normal size as Brittany smiles and takes a deep breath, head bobbing in approval. "Wow," she says, finishing off her drink and pointing with the hand clutching the empty glass towards Sophie, who's still behind the glass doors talking to Mark. "Go get your girl, then."

Santana bares her teeth and grins excitedly, and Brittany laughs at her lightly before urging her towards her soon-to-be-fiancée. She stumbles over a little bit, grinning when she hears her best friend laughing at her and pushes down the nerves, straightening up and walking sensibly towards her girlfriend.

It only takes about twenty seconds of walking to get to her, but that twenty seconds is filled with the strange nagging feeling in the back of her mind, telling her not to propose. That's just cold feet though, right? Yeah. She supposes it is, so she pushes it down and smiles when Sophie dismisses Mark in favor of her, and kisses her chastely in greeting.

She pulls the strands of hair out her face and sucks in a shaky breath, trying desperately not to focus on the fact that Brittany's most definitely watching her right now. Tentatively, she reaches into her pocket and picks out the box, her hand shaking with nerves as the fingers on her free hand move to the lid. She doesn't even look up to gauge Sophie's expression as she opens it, fearing it'll be too much and overwhelm her to the point where she faints or pretends to do something else.

Sophie gasps loudly, and brown eyes finally flicker up to see her girlfriend grabbing her own face in complete shock, palms pressing into her cheeks and mouth opens and eyes wide. Santana twists the box around, offering it out and then lets a smile grace her face as her eyes flicker to Brittany who nods and her and gives her a sucked-in-lips smile that doesn't really seem that genuine.

The focus doesn't stay on that too much though since Sophie lurches forward, throwing herself into Santana and repeating yes over and over again. Santana's not even sure she asked the question, but she's too damn relieved with the knowledge that she wasn't rejected rushes through her and she hugs back her girl–no, fiancée–and pulls back to push the ring up Sophie's fourth finger.

She feels like there should be some sort of celebration going on around her, fireworks or firecrackers even, but there isn't and she just pulls Sophie back into her arms, and lets her girlfriend bury her face into the crook of her own neck as they embrace each other.

It's then that she makes the mistake of glancing around and meeting familiar blue eyes that immediately bore into her own. She gulps against a thickening throat, listening to her mind repeat you're engaged, you're engaged over again and wonders why she isn't jumping up and down with elation because she's sure she should be. Hell, even Brittany's staring at her like she's wondering why she isn't bouncing up the walls, and Santana can't think of any explanation apart from shock.

Yeah, that's it. It must be shock preventing her from feeling all the excitement Sophie clearly is.

"I love you," Sophie mumbles, peppering kisses around Santana's face and finishing with one final one right on the mouth. She pulls back, holding her hand out in front of her and admires the ring, head tilting to the side and a breath sigh escaping her mouth. "And I love this. It's so beautiful, Santana."

Santana forces a smile and shrugs. "Just like you, Soph," she gets out, dryly. What the hell is wrong with her?

Although it seems Sophie's too caught up in the buzz she feels to notice Santana's tone and giggles, leaning forward to kiss her again before basically sprinting back into the party and finding Catalina, Sophie's best friend, and thrusting her hand in front of her face.

Santana just stands behind the glass doors, one hand inside her pants pocket whilst the other one comes up to rub at the back of her neck, and she exhales slowly, trying to figure out why the happiness isn't sinking in immediately.

It will though, she's sure of it. Once the shock has passed she'll be over the fucking moon.

Her eyes drift to Brittany but her best friend's chatting away to the bartender, throwing her head back and laughing and doesn't notice the look being shot her way.

Santana chews on her bottom lip and shakes it off, before wandering back into the party and rejoining the party.


	3. Chapter Three

The rest of the night went off with a bang.

Santana spent ninety percent of it walking around with Sophie, hand in hand, showing off the big diamond encrusted ring to all her friends and receiving the same responses, consisting of 'awww' or 'how did you do it?' And after a while the questions just got tedious, and Santana managed to sneak away and spend the rest of the night chatting away with Brittany over Perfect Ten's and Ketel One Martini's.

However all good things come to an end, and everyone started flooding out by about 2am. There hadn't been a set time to finish, but apparently everyone had the same idea, or, you know, people are just sheep and followed the crowd. Santana thought the second was more likely. It's not like she didn't like the people from the party, it's just if she could, she wouldn't spend more than two hours in their company, apart from Brittany's of course, but it was mostly Sophie's party, and what Sophie wants, Sophie gets. Kind of like Brittany in a strange way.

Brittany was the last to go, after insisting she helped clean up whilst Rachel was slumped over in the corner, passed out after downing three shots of vodka and having a beer or two. Brittany had said she'd always been a lightweight. Sophie had claimed she was tired and was heading to bed after the last guest left, bar Brittany, so Santana had grabbed two bin liners, handed one to Brittany and they'd got started on the cleaning.

But by 3:30am, they were both exhausted, and it seemed the roof wasn't going to get any cleaner without daylight to see where the rubbish was – so they said decided that was enough for the night. Santana insisted they stay over, but having a new apartment and all, Brittany wanted to settle in. So after dragging the dead weight of Rachel Berry, which was surprisingly heavy, to a cab, they departed with a hug and a kiss to the cheek.

And that's how Santana ends up here, sprawled out on the couch, feeling half dead. She looks to the clock above the TV and see's it's 4am. Her mind and body have different ideas of where she should sleep, her mind saying the couch, and her body saying the bed.

It's not like last night where she wasn't allowed to sleep in the bed, she just doesn't have the willpower or strength to get up since she flopped down on the sofa. She can be a lazy shit sometimes, but even the thought of getting up was painful.

Then again, sleeping on the couch might start another argument with Sophie and so she somehow manages to push up from the couch and pads her way down the hallway to the bedroom. When she gets there, she strips off all her clothes, leaving herself in a bra and boxers and face-plants into the mattress.

Damn, entertaining people is hard work. But she doesn't really mind, it's been such a long time since she's seen most of their faces, well, since she's seen Brittany's face, and it was amazing just being able to catch up with her. She'd never tell Sophie, but she misses Brittany, like so much, and no doubt if she ever told her fiancée that, she'd flip and Santana would be sleeping on the couch for a few weeks. Since when was a lesbian not allowed to be best friends with a bisexual?

"Babe?" Sophie stirs, her arm lazily flinging over Santana's back. "Are you okay?"

Santana groans and says a muffled yes into the pillow. Sophie giggles and rolls over, pressing a kiss to Santana's bare shoulder as her fingertips graze lightly over the small of her back.

"Did you have a good night?" Sophie murmurs, leaving trails of kisses up Santana's shoulder to her neck, where she nips at the skin lightly.

"So much my—" Santana pauses and rolls over, tucking one arm underneath the pillow and leaving the other to drape over Sophie's midsection. "—Beautiful fiancée."

Green eyes sparkle, even in the darkness and Santana leans in to press a chaste kiss to Sophie's lips. She pulls back, but the other brunette follows, crushing their lips together once more and lightly scratching up Santana's bare ribs. As much as the party was fun, she's pretty much been looking forward to this part of the night where she gets to have crazy, engagement sex with one of the most beautiful women she's ever seen. Her member starts hardening as a tongue grazes against her bottom lip and she groans. It's an immediate reaction, Sophie's tongue is just so damn soft and ugh, the things she can do with that thing…

"Hmm," Santana hums into the other woman's mouth. "Is this the part where you reward me for proposing with amazing sex?" She teases, sticking her tongue out.

Sophie grins, nods and kisses her way down Santana's jawline, nipping at the bone before trailing her way to an earlobe, where she sucks lightly. A shot of arousal bottoms out in the pit of Santana's stomach and she feels her fiancée's hand glide down her chest, running along the expanse of her uncovered flesh and down her toned abs. A finger runs along the inside of boxers waistband, and she cups Sophie's face, bringing their lips back together in a soft, gentle kiss.

When a thumb hooks into the waistband of her boxers, she smirks and sees the aroused glint in her fiancée's eye and winks, causing both of them to start giggling as Sophie slowly glides her hands down Santana's legs, ridding her of the piece of clothing and allowing her cock to spring free against her toned abs.

Sophie swings her legs over Santana's hips and straddles her, rubbing her covered center up and down the length of Santana's shaft and pressing down when the swollen tip hits her covered clit. Santana moans and her hands shoot to her fiancée's hips, rubbing her thumb in a circular motion as she moves in rhythm with Sophie's grinds. Her eight inches is standing to attention as her fiancée sits back on her thighs and allows her hands to trail down her abs once more, leaving her thumb to brush over the bottom of her shaft before biting her lip and looking at Santana straight in the eye.

It reminds Santana of their first time together, where Sophie seemed to dominate her in every way, and she could literally do nothing but stay still. In the relationship she'd grown to accept that she was the one with the pants, so to speak, but when it came to sex, Sophie seemed to take the top role and do whatever she wanted. Not that Santana complained; her fiancée definitely knew what she was doing and that night was fucking incredible.

Sophie leans down, moving her hips up and down as she tickles the tip of Santana's swollen cock with her fingers, grazing lightly. In some ways, Santana hates it when she does that, most because it's teasing and there's certain times where she just wants to get down and dirty, pronto.

And one of those times is now.

"Babe… You're so hard," Sophie whispers seductively as she grasps the base of Santana's cock.

Not wanting to wait any longer, tanned hands find the hem of Sophie's top and tug it upwards. With a quick swipe, the top flies off into the bedroom and the green-eyed brunette returns to grinding in circular motions. Santana arches her chest, and sits up, running her hands down Sophie's back until she reaches her ass and squeezes as her lips meet the base of Sophie's neck.

"Hmm," Sophie hums in appreciation, tilting her neck to allow Santana more room. Santana feels hands tangle into her dark locks, and her face being pressed further as her full lips meet the jugular of her fiancée's neck and sucks hard. A groan escapes the other woman's lips and needing more friction, she starts lifting Sophie's body, grinding upwards as her cock is in between their bodies, pressed against both of their stomachs.

She's impatient, and she's building up before even started; so she releases one hand and slides it between their bodies, pulling Sophie's panties to the side and running a single fingertip through wet heat. The sensation almost makes her want to come right there and then, but instead she grabs her member and pushes Sophie back, Sophie gripping the sheets beside her knees and running it along the length of her slit so the uncovered head hits her fiancée's clit. They both groan together before Sophie crashes their lips together in a series of fierce, sloppy kisses and soon enough, Santana finds herself being pushed back by the shoulders so she's lying flat on her back. Apparently the dominance is back.

Sophie makes quick work of her panties, bra and Santana's too, and climbs back on, straddling Santana completely naked. The image of her girlfriend naked, and sitting on top of her almost sends Santana over the edge, but she focuses on not coming as her cock twitches with arousal at the sight. She needs more, but instead of doing anything, she props herself up on her elbows and stares at her girlfriend, her eyes filled with unbridled lust.

She doesn't know how much more she can take as Sophie begins to run her hands up and down Santana's chest, so she pouts her lips, begging for a kiss which is received and cups her fiancée's sex in the palm of her hand. A steady pace is set, and Sophie tweaks one of her own nipples, whilst the other hand continues to run the length of Santana's toned abs.

Santana's getting closer to her release, not even having been inside the other girl yet and she so thrusts upwards, bumping Sophie's clit with the tip of her cock and silently asking for permission to get on with it. Sophie grins down at her at the motion and reaches over to the side table, taking out a condom and tearing it open with her teeth. As much as she's glad that she's finally going to be having sex after about a week of going without it—due to female problems—she'd always wanted to have sex without protection. But apparently Sophie was always reluctant as the contraceptive pill is only effective 99% of something, and so despite them being together for nearly a year, the woman's stubborn, and so condom it is.

"Please," Santana begs, biting her bottom lip in anticipation as Sophie slowly rolls the condom over the tip of her cock. "Soph…"

Sophie smirks and lifts herself up slightly, positioning Santana's hard member at her entrance. With one quick movement, Santana slides herself smoothly into her and moans as Sophie hovers about three-quarters of the way down her dick. It takes everything she has not to thrust completely into her fiancée—since Sophie had told her once it wasn't as enjoyable because of Santana's large size—but she isn't going to complain; sex is sex.

Their eyes lock and Sophie bites her bottom lip, moving her hips in a circular motion and grinding slowly, making herself groan. Santana grips tighter on to her fiancée's waist and spreads her legs a bit wider, wanting a little more depth. She's so close already, all the build-up and tension is multiplying in the pit of her stomach, and she can already feel the pressure building too high in her spine.

"You're so…" A few pants pause Sophie's sentence as her eyes flutter. "You're so big—Fuck."

Sophie leans forward a bit, and starts bouncing up and down on Santana's cock, making sure not to push in all the way and repeating the same rhythm as her mouth drops open when Santana hits the spot.

"Hmph," Santana grunts, feeling the tip of her cock hit something deep within Sophie. "Shit, you're so good."

Santana can feel a bead of sweat form on her brow and runs her fingertips and down her fiancée's ribs, marveling at the soft skin under her touch and matching the rhythm Sophie's creating. She tries to slow the pace to make them last longer, but it seems her fiancée is on a mission because she just quickens it instead, and Santana pulls Sophie down by the nape of her neck, to suck at the pulse point on her neck whilst she continues to pound into the woman above. Hands grip at shoulders, at breasts, and soon enough, Sophie starts to shake violently, slowly coming undone.

"Oh…" Sophie groans, tipping her head back. "Santana…"

With a few more thrusts, Sophie arches her back and pushes up, cupping her own breasts as she slowly rotates her hips and Santana can feel the tip of her cock twitching as the build-up slowly releases. As soon as Sophie closes her eyes, Santana feels her cock being clenched as her fiancée's orgasm hits her, the walls tightening around her shaft and sending her over the edge with her. She hears her name being screamed and she quickly grips Sophie's hips as she pushes in twice more and lets herself go into the condom, groaning at the sensation of warmth spreading inside the protection.

As she comes, she looks up and see's Sophie tweaking her own nipples, and a sense of dissatisfaction runs through her. It's not like the sex wasn't good—because fuck, sex with Sophie is always good—but there's it seems like Sophie was just on a mission to get herself off, and not to get Santana off, too.

But it doesn't matter, she supposes; there's going to be plenty more times. They'll have years together to practice together so one time isn't going to mean anything.

Although, thinking about that, she can't fight how strange it is to think that the woman she just had sex with, is the woman she's going to be having sex with forever. It's the woman she's going to marry, to share a bed with, and fuck, now she's panicking.

Fear sets in, hard and fast, and she widens her eyes as Sophie's limp body falls on top of her, heavy breaths beating against her neck. She feels her own chest moving rapidly up and down, transporting the movement directly on to the girl above, whose mouth is currently pressing kisses to the base of her neck and suddenly she's very aware of the fact that this is what she's going to have for the rest of her life.

After a couple of minutes of allowing their orgasms to fade, their breathing patterns return to normal and Santana wraps her arms around her fiancée, pulling herself out as she rolls Sophie off of her. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion and she pulls up the covers, covering both their bodies and starts thinking about the future. Her head rolls and eyes fall upon the woman next to her, who's staring at her through hooded eyes, just watching.

Sophie's her future wife. The woman she's going to spend the rest of her life with. Her eyes zoom into the sparkling band on her fiancée's hand which is grazing up and down Santana's covered stomach, dancing along the toned abs showing through the thin sheet.

"What you thinking about?" Sophie asks, snuggling closer and resting her head on Santana's shoulder. "You seem deep in thought."

Santana throws an arm over the other woman, pulling her closer and lacing their fingers with the other hand, to rest on top of her stomach. "The future."

"Future of what?"

Santana narrows her eyes and giggles lightly. "Us, obviously. Why? What future were you thinking about?"

Pale fingers start playing with tanned ones and Santana looks around the room, looking at the several pictures darted around the room. She misses the wide eyes her girlfriend has in reaction to her question, and continues to stare.

There's a picture of Brittany and her in high school in their graduation caps, and then another of her and Brittany asleep on the couch, Santana being the big spoon and Brittany being the little one. Her mom had taken it one day after school when they had a nap one time, and it'd remained her favorite pictures ever. Of course, as soon as she'd shown Sophie the picture and told her that, another argument rose.

Her heart sinks slightly as she starts to think about her best friend. They've always been close, and over the past year and a half, they've grown apart. She always put it down to work, but truthfully, she knew that relationships always got in the way of friendships, and Sophie had ultimately been the one taking up Santana's time, which meant less time with Brittany.

Up until now, she's never really considered the effects of marriage when it comes to her and Brittany's friendship. Since dating had caused them to grow apart, would marriage rip them completely apart? Maybe that was the reason for Brittany's slight reluctance to the announcement of her proposing to Sophie earlier on. It was obvious that the blonde wasn't ecstatic about it, and maybe it's because she knows better than Santana that marriage could possibly ruin their friendship.

A dull throb aches inside her chest and she feels her eyes welling up at the thought. It's not fair.

Why can't life just be simple?

Santana feels a fingertip graze over her brow, and it breaks her out of her thoughts. She looks down to see Sophie staring at her quizzically, one eyebrow raised and lips pursed. "Seriously, what are you thinking about?"

Brittany's name hovers on the end of her tongue, but then she thinks about last night's argument and she swallows the name. "Like I said, the future."

Green eyes study her for a second, and she watches the indecision to question her answer flicker behind them. "Okay."

Santana rolls her head back, tickling her fingertips along her girlfriends bicep with the hand connected to the arm thrown over her shoulder and starts her thoughts again. She presses a quick kiss to Sophie's hair as an arm is thrown across her stomach, pressing their bodies together and slowly closes her eyes in hope of sleep.

Well, that's until she hears Sophie cough.

"You alright?"

Sophie nods against her shoulder and laces their fingers together. "Yeah. Catalina's throwing me a wedding shower on Monday. I said it was a bit soon but I don't mind. Means more presents."

"Monday? That's kinda soon?"

She feels Sophie shrug, well as much as she can under the current position. "She said she had an inkling you were gonna propose."

Santana hums as her fingers trail over pale skin in a circle. "Oh, right. Weird."

"Yeah," Sophie exhales the word. "I invited Brittany by the way, hope you don't mind."

Santana stops her motions and pauses, slowly letting her eyes drift down to look at Sophie. She invited Brittany? What the hell? "What?"

"I invited Brittany to the wedding shower," the other girl replies. "That's okay, right?"

Once again, Santana pauses. Sure, it's okay, but that's not really what's really getting to her. Why would Sophie ask her if it's okay? It's her damn wedding shower and sure, their little encounter earlier was pretty awkward, but they seemed to get along so why feel the need to ask if it's cool?

She shakes her head at herself. She's totally overreacting to this. Over thinking it.

Pressing a kiss to Sophie's temple, she mutters a small, "No."

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I have a proposition."

Santana's eyebrow lifts, intrigued. "A proposition?"

"Yeah—Well, technically it's not a proposition. More of a demand, but I like to think you have a say in it."

There's something unsettling about the way those words are spoken, despite Santana being sure there's some light teasing in there somewhere.

(For a few seconds, she wonders if that's how married life with Sophie is going to be: demands instead of propositions.)

"Okay..." she draws out, tucking a lock of Sophie's hair behind her ear.

"You're not going to like it, but I think we should do it," Sophie shifts, sits up a little. "It will give us a traditional twist to our engagement."

Brown eyes narrow. Santana's getting more and more worried with every second. "Okay…"

"No sex until we're married."

Santana's mouth falls open and she thinks her hearts stopped for a second. Rejection flushes through her body and she sits up, untangling her body from her fiancée's and propping her back against the headboard. She tries to think of a way to say 'hell to the mother fucking no' politely, but nothing comes to mind. They haven't even planned the wedding yet, and God knows Sophie will want at least six months to plan it, let alone being able to book a place, and that could take another six months or so.

That's a year.

Shit. An entire year without sex!?

Hell no!

Although, she knows Sophie, and so instead of letting that fuck no slip from her tongue, she turns to her and bites on her top lip. "What?"

"We—" Sophie gestures between them. "—Don't have sex until we're married." She shrugs. "No pre-marital sex."

Santana scoffs. "Uh, Sophie, I think we kind of blew that whole 'no pre-marital sex' thing out the water the day we met."

"Santana," Sophie's voice is low and serious. "I'm serious."

"I know, and so am I."

Green eyes narrow. "Well I mean from now on, then. No sex until the wedding night."

"That's a stupid idea."

Sophie sits up and crosses her arms. "No it's not. It's traditional. And think about how amazing it'll be on the wedding night."

"It's only traditional if you're still a virgin and honey," Santana leans forward, palm pressing against Sophie's shoulder. "Judging by your performance a minute ago, you definitely aren't."

A smile creeps onto the corner of Sophie's mouth and Santana smirks. For a few seconds, she thinks she's won, but Sophie seems adamant and her features return stoic.

"Santana, we're doing this."

In true Santana fashion, she rolls her eyes. Sometimes Sophie really pisses her off. "What, because you say so?"

Sophie nods, lifting her chin.

"Well, no," Santana shoots back. For fuck sake, they're already arguing and they aren't even married yet. "Let's just compromise."

"But I want this."

"And I don't," Santana counters, pulling the covers off and slipping her boxers back on, angrily. "You can't always get your way."

Sophie raises both eyebrows. "Well, whether you like it or not, this is happening."

Anger burns in the pit of Santana's stomach and she looks and her girlfriend incredulously. There's no point in arguing because ultimately Sophie is as stubborn as they come, and undoubtedly she'll get what she wants, no matter what Santana thinks. It's definitely one of those things that pisses Santana off, and so instead of arguing, she exhales heavily, shakes her head and throws on a tank top before leaving the room and slamming the door loudly.

Another night sleeping on the sofa.

Isn't this engagement just the best?

Monday comes quicker than expected.

Santana spent eighty percent of Sunday lounging around on the sofa whilst Sophie was on the phone constantly, babbling on about their wedding and planning it. They hadn't talked since their argument, and Santana sure as hell wasn't going to give in so it'd just stayed silent between them. Sophie was being the unreasonable one anyway, and Santana hadn't done a single fucking thing wrong so she saw no reason to apologize.

Although now, she does feel like a bit childish for planting the blame on someone. Stupid fucking arguments.

She arrives at her office in a pin striped blazer and matching skirt at 7am on the dot. She throws her briefcase down on her desk—harder than necessary—and plops in the chair in frustration thinking about her weekend. She'd slept another night on the couch—the third night in a row—and now she can feel the crick in the back of her neck.

Inwardly, she decides that she's either going to have to make use of the spare room and buy another bed, or suck it up and apologize despite doing nothing wrong; but neither of them really take her fancy.

A buzz breaks her out of her thoughts and she twists round, facing the computer as she digs out her iPhone. Flashing up on the screen is the name Britt Britt and underneath the text reads ring me please :). She smiles instantly; her best friend could always cheer her up, no matter what. Her eyes roam outside the glass door quickly, noticing the lack of staff in the office and she figures she has at least half an hour before her secretary will be in, so there's no need to worry about ruining her cold hard reputation in front of them.

She picks up her phone, flicks down her contacts and presses the name she's looking for when she comes to it.

A couple of rings later, a ruffling greets her first and she lets out a giggle.

"Hey, Britt," Santana murmurs, twirling the ends of her hair between her forefinger and thumb.

She hears Brittany yawn. "Hey, San. You're up early."

Come to think of it, she is up a hell of a lot earlier than usual. Probably to do with lack of sleep, or comfort, or high levels of frustration, or maybe a mixture of all three.

She exhales heavily at the thought of another night on the sofa. "Yeah, I had a fight with Sophie."

"A caramel latte, and earl gray tea to go please," Brittany's voice is muted, but comes back to normal shortly after."Sorry San, just at Starbucks. Anyway, what did you do this time?"

Santana grunts. "I didn't do anything."

"San…"

She tilts her neck back and rolls her head as she presses her phone between her shoulder and ear. "She hasn't even planned the wedding yet…"

"So?"

Santana grins. "Let me finish, woman. Anyway, she hasn't even planned the wedding, and they usually take like what, a year to plan?"

Brittany hums in agreement and it only confirms Santana's reason to be angry. "Usually. Sometimes even longer. Yeah, extra cream please. Thank you."

"Extra cream? You feeling alright, Britt?"

"Oh hush you. I'm talking to the barista. Anyway, so yeah, you were saying?"

Santana grins, and listens as a bell rings down the phone. She assumes Brittany's leaving Starbucks as the sound of New York traffic comes down the phone only seconds later. In some ways, she doesn't really want to indulge on her reluctance to not having sex until marriage, because the more she thinks about it, the more it makes her sound like a sexually frustrated teenager with raging hormones.

But then again, it's Brittany and they've been sharing sex tips and sex stories from the majority of their lives so this shouldn't be too bad.

"Sophie doesn't want to have sex until we're married."

"What!" Brittany half-yells, and Santana can just imagine the blonde looking around all flushed and embarrassed at her outburst. "That's crazy, San!" She continues in a lower tone. Yep, Brittany's embarrassed.

"That's what I said," Santana agrees, pulling out her lap top and opening the lid. "And then she got all pissy and said it's going to happen no matter what. So I don't have a choice."

"Well," Brittany breathes. "First of all, stop thinking it makes you sound sexually frustrated because it doesn't, and second of all, that's ridiculous. If she'd planned the wedding I could probably understand, but some weddings take up to like two years to plan."

The two year information just adds to the frustration and Santana groans, throwing her head back against the back of the chair. She thought a year tops, but two? Fuck no.

"Two years? Really? That long?"

"Well it depends, every woman differs. For all you know Sophie might want to elope and you'll be in Vegas tomorrow."

Santana thinks over the idea for a moment, tapping her chin. It's completely ridiculous, seeing as Sophie wants a big wedding, but she can't help but wish that maybe Sophie will reconsider.

"San, stop. It's not going to happen."

She smiles at how well Brittany can interpret her silence. It was always their thing, being able to know each other without even speaking.

"I know, B. I just, uh," Santana face palms herself and rubs her face slowly down her face as she props her legs up onto the desk, nearly knocking off the pot of pens next to her laptop. "When the hell did everything get so complicated?"

Silence answers her and she starts to think about all the times they'd shared throughout their school years where the biggest challenges were getting a date for the dance, or acing their exams. Relationships weren't messy back then, it was a simple 'I like you', and 'I like you too, let's date'. There were no intense feelings, or mentions of marriage, and sometimes she can't help but feel like she wants to go back to then. Back to when things were simple. Easy.

"I don't know," Brittany replies. "Things just happen so fast and everything tangles together creating a big, complicated mess. It just happens like that, San."

Santana hears the sadness in her best friends tone and lowers her feet, leaning both elbows on the desk and cradling her head in her free hand. It's small, but it's there. She's always been able to hear it, even down a crappy cell phone connection. "What's up, Britt?"

"Nothing." Santana raises both eyebrows, even though Brittany can't see. "I'm just tired and I've got the wedding shower today."

She snorts. "You're actually going to that thing?"

She can hear the shrug down the phone. "Well Sophie invited me, and she's your fiancée, so I think I should make the effort."

"You're worried, why?"

Brittany giggles down the phone. They know each other way too well. "I'm going to be surrounded by a bunch of women I don't know, and judged because I've spent seventeen years of my life being best friends with you."

Not seeing a problem with it, Santana shrugs. "So?"

"So," Brittany starts, murmuring a quick 'excuse me' to someone on the other end of the phone. "You're gay."

"Um… Yeah…"

Brittany exhales heavily. "They'll probably automatically assume that I've slept with you and then judge me because we're that close."

It catches Santana completely off guard, and she suppresses the urge to gasp. Even though her immediate reaction is to say no that's stupid, Brittany does actually have a point. Her mother had always said that it was strange considering the closeness of their friendship, tied in with their sexuality that they'd never hooked up, or dated.

Don't get her wrong, Santana had actually proposed that maybe they should go out on a date four summers ago, and see where it went, but Brittany had thought it over and decided they were better as friends, and Santana agreed.

"Britt," Santana says, realizing she hasn't spoke for at least a minute. "Sophie knows nothing's ever happened between us, so there's no need to worry."

"Hmm, I guess so. Seventh floor please."

Santana enters her password and logs on to her laptop. "Stop worrying, Britt. It'll be fine."

"I don't know, San."

Several employee's walk in and Santana spots her secretary a few people back. She immediately straightens up and picks the phone up from between her shoulder and cheek. "Look, I've got to go, Jenny's here. But don't worry about the shower, and if you don't feel like going I'll make up an excuse for you."

"Thanks San, hold on two seconds though."

Santana rests back into her chair and drums her fingertips along the desktop. A few seconds later, the glass door opens and Santana holds up a finger without looking towards the door and says wait, pausing whoever's at the door.

"Britt," she calls down the phone. "Britt, I gotta go."

There are a few voices down the end of the phone and she taps her fingers, hearing it echo through the phone. Her eyes widen the littlest bit and she hears a giggle coming through the phone and what sounds like—

"I'm here, dummy."

Santana spins around in her chair and there's Brittany, leaning against the door frame with two coffee cups in hand. She steals a quick glance at her phone before hanging up and heading towards the door with a grin the size of Jupiter stretched across her face. Brittany opens her arms, making sure to hold the cups in the air as Santana engulfs her into a tight hug, and she feels the blonde respond by nuzzling her face into her shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Santana says as she pulls away and gestures to the chair in front of her desk. "Don't you have a class to teach or something?"

Brittany shakes her head. "Nope. Thought I'd come see my best friend for a bit before the shower."

She hands over the coffee cup and Santana eyes up the coffee, wondering what's in there. "Is it a ca—"

"Caramel latte with extra cream, yes."

Santana grins in response and takes the lid off, blowing the steam with a small exhale of air. "You know me too well."

Brittany winks. "Always."

For the next four hours they talk whilst Santana does some work, and receives several strange stares from Jenny as she laughs and throws her head back. But frankly, she doesn't care. It's been a good eighteen months and apart from an hour or two on Saturday night; she hasn't spent a good length of time alone with Brittany. Truth be told, there's a hole in her heart that Brittany just fills whenever she's around.

The hours go by quickly, and soon enough, Santana's secretary is interrupting her and Brittany's conversation and reminding her about the act she has to go and see tonight since apparently she agreed to it on Saturday with her boss. She agrees to do it anyway, scowling, and picks up her cell phone up to send Sophie a rather quick and blunt text telling her she' won't be home for dinner. She sets it down and turns back to her best friend, only to find Brittany right beside her, peering over her shoulder at the computer screen with a confused expression.

"Hey, Britt?"

Brittany turns at the call of her name, and Santana's throat runs dry at how close she is. "Yeah?"

She knows she should probably tell Brittany the reason for calling her name, but she's sort of stuck in a daze. Her throat thickens as she stares at her best friend, eyes involuntarily flicking down to pink lips and back up to stunningly bright blue eyes. Her mind goes hazy for a good few seconds, almost clouding over, but she forces herself to shake out of it, leaning away.

It's then that Brittany notices the proximity because she does the same thing, but now they're just leaning away from each other, staring with quizzical expressions like neither of them know what the hell just happened, even though it felt strangely significant.

Neither of them do though, and it's thoroughly frustrating. The tension builds in the air, and Santana feels her breath picking up as she squints, trying to figure out why the air has suddenly gone all stuffy around them.

But before she can even force herself to come up with an answer, she brings her head further back, furrows both eyebrows and coughs awkwardly, her hand fiddling with the pen, tapping the end of it on the desk rapidly to create something louder than her pulse roaring in her ears.

"So," she says, coughing again. "How you feeling about going to see an act with me tonight? Apparently she's some small town chick with a great voice."

Brittany grins and nods, completely forgetting the tension that was around them. "Definitely."

"Great." Santana picks up the office phone and presses the button for her secretary.

The second she sees Jenny pick up through the glass walls of her office, she cuts her off and speaks in a sharp tone. "Jenny, I'm leaving early today, around five. Britt and I are going to see the act Gerry recommended after we get something to eat, but for now, I'm leaving early for lunch, too. I'll be back at two so rearrange my conference call." Jenny nods rapidly, noting all these down on a piece of paper at her desk. "Just make up an excuse for my absence and make it sound legitimate otherwise you're fired."

Through the glass, she sees Jenny's face pale. "Yes, Miss Lopez."

"What's her name?"

Jenny looks at her, panic evident in her eyes. "Uh, sorry—Who's name?"

Santana's expression drops, but eyebrow lifts. "The acts name, Jenny," she says, flatly, but then catches the look on Brittany's face and rolls her eyes. "Please."

"Her name's Qui—Quinn Fabray."

Despite the be nice look her best friend's shooting her, she rolls her eyes at the stutter. It's not natural, and Santana knows it never happens around anyone else but her; but that amuses her too because she knows from word around the office that Jenny is so scared of her, sometimes she actually cries. And it's not like Santana enjoys that, but it's just pretty funny. She barely even bitches out to Jenny and she's still terrified of her.

"Okay, thanks. And stop stuttering. I'm not going to kill you."

She hangs up before Jenny can answer, and turns to Brittany who's still staring at her with that you should be nice expression. She rolls her eyes.

"San, that was mean."

Santana shrugs, sorting out a few papers on her desk. "I am mean."

"No," Brittany reaches forward and picks a bit of fluff off Santana's blazer. "You act mean."

"It's the same thing," Santana fires back, picking up her pen and chewing on the end as Brittany leans back into her chair.

Except she's just grinning. "No, it's not. I know how much of a big softie you are," she quips, stretching forward again to pinch Santana's cheek.

A light chuckle escapes her lips as she frowns, swiping Brittany's hand away playfully. "Sssh." Her eyes flicker toward her secretary's desk who is now staring at them quizzically. "I have a reputation to uphold here, Britt, and I can't have you ruining it."

"Oh, as if."

She laughs again, and then Brittany joins in. They both chuckle for a good thirty seconds before they're left, sitting their, cradling their aching abdomens.

"Man," Santana sighs, wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her finger. "I haven't laughed like that in a long time."

Brittany lets out a another chuckle. "Neither have I." She pauses, takes in a deep breath. "I've missed you, Santana."

There's a pout forming on her lips and Santana grins, shaking her head and reaching forward to poke to protruding flesh back in with the tip of her finger. Immediately, Brittany scrunches up her nose, eyes crossing as the digit comes forward, but then all of a sudden, Santana's finger is trapped between a set of perfectly white teeth with hot breath beating against the skin. It doesn't hurt, because she knows this is just playful, but she still pretends like it is.

"Ow," she whines, furrowing her brow. "That hurts."

And Brittany giggles, knowing she's lying but all the laughter drains out of Santana when a warm, wet tongue flicks out against her finger. The blood disappears from her face and Brittany's still chuckling but Santana's not paying attention to that, instead realizing that her pants are feeling considerably tighter now.

That's when she remembers a time back in high school, when she and Brittany were eating ice cream together on a Summers day and Brittany chose not to go for whipped cream. Of course that meant that when Santana got some, somehow it became more appealing and Brittany demanded some, and so Santana did the only thing she could think of and scooped some off with her middle finger, offering out to her best friend who licked it off without a moments hesitation.

The next thing she knew though, she was clutching her crotch, trying to conceal the bulge showing through her jeans and sprinting to the bathroom. It really was one of the hardest things to explain to Brittany, telling her that she'd just got a boner over something her best friend did, but it was fine and Brittany laughed it off, telling her that it was common for 'people with penises' to get turned on when someone sucked on their middle finger.

(That did make her wonder that if Brittany knew that, why did she accept the offer to lick Santana's finger if she knew the effect it'd have on her.)

Although now, she highly doubts that she could explain to Brittany that it's has just happened again.

So instead, Santana goes for the subtlest route she can think of and shoots up off her seat, yanking back her finger and taking two large strides to the door. "I've... Uh... Gotta go to the... Uh... Toilet."

Brittany's still in her seat, gazing at Santana's back with a dumbfounded expression, but Santana doesn't have enough time to explain. Shit. For the second fucking time she has a boner because of her best friend and if she doesn't get out of here, she's either going to have to explain or get so aroused that she asks Brittany to help her out with it and fuck. She can't do that. She knows how weird this looks though, and so she turns slightly, one hand fiddling with the crease at the base of her blazer whilst the over hovers awkwardly over the front of her skirt. She doesn't want to look to see if she's showing, that'd just be too obvious, but she doesn't know if she's showing or not.

Fuck. The complications of having a dick, seriously.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asks, softly, pushing up from her seat and approaching Santana. Her face is etched with concern, blue eyes slightly narrowed and the closer she gets, the more Santana can feel herself pushing up against her supposed 'concealing' boxers.

"I'm fine," she splutters, backing away to the threshold of her office and holding one hand out, deterring Brittany from moving closer. "I'm just... I need to the toilet."

Brittany seems to notice the clear panic in her tone, in her body language and stops, cocking her head to the smile and showing a small grin. "Are you sure? You seem a bit..." blue eyes trail over her body. "Flushed?"

Brown eyes widen, and Santana's hand bunches up the bottom of her blazer as she backs out the door, knocking her elbow on the door frame as she exits. There's a slight sting of pain, a dull ache too, but the flash of panic clouds her pain receptors and she finds herself not caring, instead just nodding erratically and swallowing against a thickening throat.

"I'm fine," she squeaks. "Just dandy.

Brittany examines her for a second, eyes flickering down the length of her body before the blue softens. "Okay, hurry up though. I wants to get my eating on."

If it weren't for the growing bulge and pulsing arousal thrumming through her, Santana would probably laugh at her best friend's lame attempt to fake a ghetto voice. It was always Santana's thing, trying to be all ghetto and get in touch with the tiniest bit of black she has in her bloodline, but Brittany had tried it once in high school and it'd made Santana laugh so much that ever since, the blonde girl had done it.

"O—Okay," Santana stutters, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'll be right back."

Without another word, she turns and sprints toward the bathroom.

Santana scowls at the young intern applying eyeliner in the mirror when she enters the bathroom, and watches as the other woman scuttles away with a feared expression. She quickly jerks towards the door, flicking the lock on before resting her palms either side of one of the sinks and looking at herself in the mirror. It's not until now that she realizes how flushed she is; her cheeks and the tips of her ears are tinted with a dark pink, and her eyes are dark with arousal.

Her hand flutters down her stomach, and she takes a quick glance around the bathroom, checking it's empty before hiking up her skirt to reveal the bulge. In the reflection of the mirror she can see the bulge formed in her tight, black boxers and she feels her throat grow thicker. There's a flash of blonde hair and strikingly beautiful blue eyes that flows through her brain and she squeezes her eyes shut, shaking the image out her brain as her eyes flicker back up to her reflection.

An idea pops into her head just then and she narrows her eyes, thinking it over for a second. Her member is growing harder and harder against the tight fabric and before she can even make the decision with conscious though, her hand slips down, fingertips trailing the outline of her cock. A low, throaty groan escapes her mouth and she closes her eyes at the sensation.

"Uh…" She groans, applying a lightest of pressures until she's cupping herself, rotating her palm and growing to her full length.

She imagines lying on her bed, completely bare and feeling her pert nipples as she watches the woman of her dreams saunter over to her, equally bare. It sends a shot of arousal through her stomach, and tingle that singes down every nerve, fizzling out at her fingertips. The woman grins seductively and quirks an eyebrow, before bending at the hip, and crawling up the bed with smoldering blue ey—

Oh, shit.

Santana snaps her eyes open and her mouth drops as she realizes the woman she was imagining wasn't the one she proposed to. Her face gets hot and her hand drops from her still-covered member, guilt strumming through her body until it feels like the weight of her word is on her shoulders. It's not like she constantly imagines Sophie when she's touching herself because that's just unrealistic; and admittedly, eighty percent of the time she is thinking about her, but it's just natural for her mind to wander off sometimes.

But it's never gone that far before.

It's never gone toward Brittany. She's never thought of her best friend whilst touching herself, and fuck, she just did. And she's not like that at all. She may be a lot of things, a troublemaker, a bitch, and all the follow after that, but she's not a cheater. No matter what people in high school used to say.

On the other hand, though, it's not like it's really cheating. It can't properly be considered cheating because technically, she's not doing anything wrong.

It's not like she's screwing Brittany on the bathroom floor, moaning into her mouth as she sinks deep within her best friend. It's not like she's actually touching herself, running her hands all over Brittany's body. She's just thinking about Brittany. Not even necessarily doing dirty things, just imagining her.

A buzzing interrupts her vulgar, (okay maybe not vulgar) thoughts, and she flips out her phone, clicking it to find a picture of Sophie on the screen with a short text underneath it. Guilt flows into her body and she resists the urge to roll her eyes at the way it settles in her gut.

She knows it's wrong, despite all the technicalities. She knows she shouldn't be thinking what she is, but she's not doing anything wrong. And what the hell else was she supposed to think about, seeing as Sophie had told her she wouldn't be walking around naked in front of Santana anymore because the 'urge might be too strong'? Sure, Santana has her imagination and memories to go through, but when there's a walking, talking, living best friend, right in front of her with glowing skin, mesmerizing eyes and legs to die for, it's hard not to accidentally let her mind stumble there when she's masturbating.

Hell, she'd have to not have a brain to have an erotic image of her best friend pass through her mind at some point in her life.

But no—Fuck. It's wrong.

It's so wrong, and there's no point in trying to find an excuse because the bottom line is that Brittany's her best friend, and Sophie's her fiancée. Sophie is the one she should be thinking of. Sophie is the woman of her dreams that supplies her with everything she needs, both mentally and physically and Brittany is just her best friend. That's it.

Her eyes find herself in the reflection, noticing the lack of bulge under her tight boxers. She sighs a little, still feeling the heat from before but knowing it's not as intense and pushes the bunched skirt back down from her waist, twisting her body so the skirt sits comfortably. At least she doesn't have to deal with a raging hard on anymore. That'd be... Sticky.

She sorts out her hair, applies a layer of lip gloss and leaves without another thought to Brittany or Sophie.

When she gets back to her office, Brittany's moved from the chair she was on to Santana's, flicking through Facebook on her laptop with her feet propped up on the desk.

Santana gulps as she looks at her, because Brittany's wearing a very short denim skirt today, despite the chill in the air, and that means her long, smooths legs are out. Combine that with the thoughts Santana was having a minute ago, and she's having a really fucking hard time not getting an erection again. Especially when the room seem to be brighter now, and that's just highlighting the glowing skin covering Brittany's legs.

Pushing the thoughts of best friends, arousal, sex or anything in that area, Santana ducks her head and makes her way into her office, shutting the door behind her and running a hand through her hair, pulling through the slight tangles there. She stops, staring at her best friend and waits until blue eyes slide to her to speak.

"You took your time," Brittany teases, sticking out her tongue and scrunching her nose. "What were you doing?"

It's like God is out to get her because at the same time the word's leave Brittany's mouth, she's getting up, stretching her arms way above her head and revealing a slither of flat, toned stomach beneath a one size too small tank top. Seriously, this just isn't fucking fair, and Santana gulps, hoping it's not too loud and makes her way over to the desk, widening her step so she doesn't get too close to Brittany as she shuts her laptop.

The thoughts streaming through her head are quickly cut off by a hand on her shoulder, soft and light. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Brittany raise an eyebrow at her, bite her lip and ask her a silent question, but Santana doesn't move. Hell, she hardly breathes as she pushes away the guilt she's feeling and the fiery touch emanating from the palm on her shoulder, burning all the way through her blazer and shirt.

This is just ridiculous.

"Sorry," she murmurs, stepping away from Brittany and hearing the rush of air as Brittany's hand drops. "Longest pee ever."

She looks back up, expecting to find some laughter in Brittany's expression, but all she sees is skepticism and suspicious. The air seems to get hotter at that moment and she purses her lips, rolling her shoulders inside her blazer as her fingers creep along the hem of her blazer, fiddling with it. Normally, she'd make a joke, or do something to break the way Brittany's looking at her, but in this moment, her mind's just completely blank.

She has all of these emotions inside of her, guilt and arousal still there, and she knows she's only acting so weird toward Brittany is because she hasn't sex in what feels like forever. Okay, maybe it's only actually being two days or something, but she knows that she's sustaining from sex which makes her want it more than ever. It's like being told not to do something, it just makes you want to do it all the more.

And it really doesn't help that Brittany's just sex on legs. Seriously. She has like, the highest level of sex appeal Santana's ever known and it's just fucking with her mind. It's not attraction, it's not lust, it's just sexual frustration; nothing to feel guilty about.

"Right," Brittany draws out, clearly not believing Santana. Why should she though? Santana is being weird. "Anyway, shall we get going?"

Letting out a long exhale, Santana feels some pressure lifted off her chest. It takes a few seconds before she can recollect her thoughts, her actions, but she manages to and forces her body into doing something, which is picking up her purse and smiling at her best friend.

"Let's."

And with the strange tingling in the pit of her stomach, she lets Brittany go in front of her and closes the door behind them, not knowing how long she can last without this whole sex thing.

This wedding better come quick.


	4. Chapter Four

Early November 2018

"Santana!"

Santana jolts from her desk, knocking over her coffee mug and spilling some of the contents over the signed contracts lying out on her desk. Shit. Coffee stains are hard to get out. And she would snap at her boss for scaring the crap out of her, maybe say something catch or witty, or just something that'd sting in general, but she likes her job. Then factor in the e-mail she just received from Wedding Day Inc. about Sophie wanting a fifty thousand dollar wedding, unemployment probably wouldn't be the way to go, so no shouting at the boss today.

Instead, she grasps the contracts and flicks them back and forth, droplets of coffee dropping off tanned skin and white paper and reaches for the flashing button on the office phone sitting on her desk.

She clears her throat, placing down the stained contracts. Thank the Lord for copies. "Uh, yes, Sir?"

"My office, now."

Santana grimaces. She never has been and never will be one for being told what to do, especially when it's her asshole of a boss who doesn't even have the decency to say freaking please. Like, seriously, how hard is it to be polite? But she can tell by his tone it's something important and keeps telling herself that she needs to stick with this job. She needs to stick with it and get past the wedding and then think about her future plans seeing as there's no way in hell she's staying at this job forever.

"Yes, Sir."

Releasing her finger from the button, she stands, smooths out the creases on her skirt and heads for the door. She won't lie, she's a little nervous. Her boss sounded pretty serious, and he never personally calls into her office to see her. When he does it usually either means she's in shit or... Well, she's never found out a second possibility as to why. The only times he's ever called her is was because she was in shit.

Just great.

With a quivering hand, she raps on the door three times and awaits instruction. A deep "come in" sounds through the door not a moment later and she takes in a deep breath, pushing open the door to find her boss, Gerry, sitting behind his desk, chubby sausage fingers clasping a pen in one hand whilst the other is clutching some sort of file. Glasses are perched on the end of his nose, and they're almost so comically small that Santana barks out a laugh seeing as they make her boss' fat head look fatter than usual. A pin striped power suit dons his body, and his head shines in the light, a few wisps of hair combed over, trying and failing to hide the fact that he's balding, and honestly? Santana doesn't know how this guy's married.

She's not a shallow bitch or anything, but her boss isn't nice, nor does he have the body to make up for his lack of personality and shit, the only thing she can possibly come up with right now, as she stands in the door gaping at her boss is that his wife must be staying with him for the same reason he has a four thousand dollar watch resting nicely on his wrist.

"Mr. Jenson," Santana states, making herself sound formal. "You asked to see me?"

Eyes slide toward her. "Yes, Santana. Please, sit."

There's a slapping sound as the file her boss was clutching is thrown to the desk, skidding over varnished wood to come to a halt at the edge of the desk, in front of the chair Santana's just about to sit in. She eyes the file skeptically, looking between the manilla folder and her boss to see if she's done something wrong but there's no twinkle in her boss' eye that says I'm going to fire you because of what's inside this folder so it's all good so far.

As soon as her ass meets the cushion of the chair, she crosses one leg over the other and reaches for the folder. "What's this?"

Her boss slowly rises from the chair, pushing off each armrest with stubby arms and Santana watches them bend beneath the pressure. If it weren't for the tension in the air, she'd probably laugh. But she doesn't and instead picks up the file, flicking it open but keeping her eyes on her boss.

"Well, Miss Lopez," he starts, walking toward the wide window behind him and stopping, peering out of it. "It's come to my attention that you signed Robert Pointer last month?"

"Yes, I did."

"And that would be your… Twentieth signing since you've been here? Am I correct?"

She nods, but realizes a second later he can't see it and hums instead, quickly rolling her eyes at herself for humming in response. What kind of a professional does that?

"Right. Just as I thought." Gerry's voice is low and serious and Santana straightens up a little with fear. "That brings me to my next point."

Santana swallows heavily, eyes finally drifting down to the file in hand to find the contract she wrote up and signed, along with Robert Pointer, last month. There's nothing special about it, and as she scans over it, there aren't any faults or loopholes. Or maybe that's the problem?

"Excuse me, Mr. Jenson," she starts. "If I've done something—"

"Why do you think you're here?"

The question is shot at her so fast that she has to take a few seconds to blink and let it process in her mind. She coughs to clear her throat before she responds. "Honestly? I don't know."

A smile curls at the edges of Gerry's mouth, and Santana's not sure whether she's supposed to feel nervous or good about him doing that so she just continues to stare blankly. She literally doesn't have a clue what's going on and she kind of just wants to reach across the table, slap her boss and tell him to spit it out. But he's staring at her like he just found out she slept with his wife or something. Obviously, she hasn't, and never would because of millions of different reasons but still, it's that kind of look.

"Well, Santana," Gerry crosses one large arm over his chest, the other reaching up to pick the glasses off his face and tuck them beside the red handkerchief hanging out his blazer pocket. "Congratulations."

She blinks. "Excuse me?"

"Congratulations," he repeats, his grin widening and arms untangling to raise them in the air. "You've signed twenty acts in four years! It's a new business record and therefore puts us above Columbia and Virgin Records!"

Judging by Gerry's tone, she should be celebrating because it's all high and excited, but she can't really focus on that 'cause she's so damn relieved. Relieved that she didn't get fired and relieved that nothing bad is to come of this meeting.

Pressing her hand to her chest, she breaths out heavily, relaxing her scrunched eyebrows and shakes her head slowly. "Jesus. You scared me."

His smile falters and arms drop. "That's all you have to say? That I scared you?"

Santana smiles weakly and lifts a shoulder. "I thought you were going to fire me or something."

A deep throaty laugh escapes Gerry's lips, but she just continues to grin, slowly figuring out that getting a personal congratulations from the boss for signing twenty acts in four years can only mean one thing. Bonus.

"So," she clears her throat, trying not to get too excited yet. "What does this mean? Do I get my own private island or access to the company jet or something?" She jokes. Well, slightly joking. Wouldn't hurt to suggest either of them and planting the idea inside her boss' mind, right?

"Not quite yet," he winks and she bites back the urge to shudder. "But it gets you on your way." He makes his way back to his chair and slumps down into it, the metal of the wheels creaking beneath his weight. "Come by my office at five o'clock and collect your cheque."

Despite all the excitement buzzing through her, Santana retains the urge to jump from her seat, bounce around the office and act like a little kid who just found the toys aisle at Wal-Mart and instead struggles to force a soft smile and gracefully rises from her seat, brushing down her skirt to adjust it slightly. She offers out her hand—it's the right thing to do in this situation, she thinks—and watches as Gerry eyes it quickly, before flashing her a grin and slapping his meaty hand into it, shaking it roughly.

"Again, Lopez, congratulations. I'm assuming this means you and your fiancée can have the wedding sooner than planned?"

Suddenly a rush of excitement for not only her bonus, but for the wedding, surges through her and she almost claps her hands together like a seal to show her happiness, but then Gerry shoots her a strange expression and she deflates, forcing a cough and choosing to play it cool. Even though she's like, ninety nine percent sure it totally didn't come off like that.

"Yeah," she bobs her head. "Guess so."

Gerry smiles at her one last time and picks up the file. It's the sign for Santana to get out and so she lowers her head at him and backs away, pointedly not giving into the urge to skip back to her office.

"It was so embarrassing, Santana! I'm actually going to kill Rachel!"

Santana's lungs are actually hurting with how much she's laughed in the past ten minutes, but somehow she still manages to continue laughing at her best friend telling her recent and very embarrassing story as they both come to a stop at a hot dog vendor. She looks towards the sweaty, Turkish guy and smiles, muttering a quick order for her and Brittany, then turns back to her best friend and shakes her head, cheeks aching from the grin on her face.

"Oh, come on," she says, leaning gently against the metal cart. "It can't have been that bad."

Brittany's expression is less than amused as she tilts her head to the side. "She gave me a thong with a freaking zip in it as a present for Sophie," she says, monotonously, face slowly reddening. "And not just any present, a wedding present, San."

Santana tries not to snicker, she really does, but it doesn't work and instead barks out a full blown chuckle, her chest rapidly moving as the hot dog vendor hands over two hot dogs. She flashes a dazzling smile and he blinks, dazed for a minute, before accepting the five dollar bill she slides him.

"Britt, I'm sorry, but that's freaking hilarious."

"It so was not! It was humiliating!" Brittany screeches, playfully, throwing hands in the air and dropping it back down. She closes her eyes and shakes her head at herself before taking the hot dog without onions handed to her. "And this was supposed to be my treat," she nods toward the hot dog in her hand. "But thank you, anyway."

The smile on Santana's face widens as they step up to the sauce station, pausing to drown their hot dogs in ketchup and mustard. It's the way they like it.

"Well, tough. It's my treat. And humiliation or not, that shit must have been funny as hell." Santana switches her hot dog with Brittany's as she presses down on the lever to cover Brittany's hot dog in mustard as she's that side, whilst Brittany covers her in ketchup 'cause she's that side. "And at least I have something to look forward to, now."

Brittany's face contorts with disgust as she takes back her hot dog, handing Santana's over to her. "That's gross, San. I don't need to know what my best friend and her fiancée get up to in the bedroom."

Santana's mouth drops open to say something but it snaps shut right away, noticing the look she's getting in her peripheral vision as they begin walking through the park again. Brittany's smirking at her, eyebrow raised and eyes knowing, and Santana just looks away, dipping her head. Shit. She forgot she told Brittany about the whole 'no sex' thing.

"Oh, yeah," the blonde says, pretending she's just remembered as she bumps their hips together. "I forgot you aren't getting any."

Lifting her hand, Santana makes a jerking off movement with her hand but regrets it instantly.

"Practiced movement, Santana?"

She just sends a scowl to her best friend and Brittany sends a wink back, making Santana's body tingle in the weirdest of ways. She pushes the feeling away though, swearing it's the hot dog or something—despite not even taking a bite yet—and they both laugh it out, before the sound of trees swaying and leaves rolling across the path in front of them is the only sound between them.

Then she remembers something and pipes up, instantly forgetting the weirdness running through her a minute ago. "Oh! So, yeah, good news!"

"Yeah?" Brittany mumbles, mouth opening to take a bite of the hot dog. Except at the very same moment her lips wrap around the sausage, the moment something flicks in Santana's mind and her eyes widen, suddenly imagining something very different. She tells herself it's just a hot dog, just a phallic shaped object and squeezes her eyes shut, looking away. This whole no sex thing is screwing with her mind. Or maybe Brittany's just teasing her seeing as she knows about the whole lack of sex life thing going on right now.

"Uh—yeah," she grunts, trying to get back on track. "Bonus. I got one," she stutters, nodding when it makes sense. "I got a bonus, today."

"You did?"

"Yep," Santana lifts her chin, proudly. "Fifty grand."

Brittany splutters out some bread, choking on the mouthful she's taking, and Santana figures that okay, maybe Brittany's not teasing her.

"Holy crap!" The blonde finally says, throwing her arms around Santana. "That's amazing!" She cheers, pulling back from the hug. "What did you do to get it!?"

"I just got me some mad skills," Santana says, trying to sound and look ghetto by popping her collar. If she were anyone else, saying that phrase would probably be one of the most embarrassing things ever, but with Brittany, it just takes her back, makes her feel like a kid again. Makes her feel like she can take a break from being a grown up and just forget all this adult shit and be as goofy as she wants. With Brittany, it's just like she's free, and Brittany's always had that hold of her; and Santana sure as hell doesn't want to let go of that hold.

"At least that means you get to arrange your wedding earlier," Brittany shrugs. "Now that you have the funds and all."

That thought brings Santana back to one about her and Brittany's friend; about what's going to happen to them when she gets married, and all of a sudden, her good mood disappears.

Brittany must see it, because she pokes Santana in the cheek, swallows her mouthful and ask, "What's that face for?"

Santana lifts a shoulder as she balls up her hot dog wrapped, throwing it in a bin they pass by. She doesn't know quite how to explain herself, and so she's just going to go for broke. "Me getting married isn't—" She looks up to meet blue eyes. "It isn't going to get in the way of us, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

Brittany slows her walking after the question, Santana meets the pace.

"It's just—" There's a sinking feeling in the middle of her chest and she can't do anything but feel it as she tries to explain. "It's just we didn't see each other for a year and a half, and the majority of that I was with Sophie." She shrugs. "And I don't know if marriage is going to push us apart completely."

Brittany's hand drops by her side, and they just walk for a bit in silence, their hands swaying back and forth lightly.

But then Brittany talks, except her voice is sad and low. "Relationships always change things. It's inevitable."

It only causes the pressure on Santana's chest to build, and it's at that moment they pass two teenage girls, pushing each other playfully and laughing together until that pressure turns into a dull throb. In some ways, she wishes they could go back to that in some ways because everything's so damn complicated now. It was so much easier back then, and as she turns her head to look at her best friend, she sees exactly the same thing etching it's way across Brittany's expression as the two girls disappear behind them.

So she reaches out and pulls on Brittany's hug, causing her to stop and twist until they're face to face.

And it's not until now that she's not entirely aware of what she was planning on doing. So, she settles for releasing Brittany's hands and sliding her own ones around Brittany's waist, pulling their bodies together. Strong arms wind around her neck, clinging on tightly and even though they're in broad daylight, in the middle of Central Park, it feels like it's just them in this moment, and it feels so fucking good.

Santana buries her face into the crook of Brittany's neck, feeling Brittany sink into her embrace and honestly, it's times like these when she's glad for Brittany because it's just like all the shit washes away when her best friend's in her arms. It just feels like she's safe and secure. Like nothing can touch her.

After a long moment, she pulls away but doesn't step back. She glances up into deep, blue eyes and smiles softly, brushing a piece of blonde hair behind Brittany's ear. Even though it's an action she's done a million times before, somehow it feels different and she finds herself freezing, realizing how domestic the gesture was. But even though, yeah, it was a little domestic, she finds herself not caring and slows the movement, letting her eyes roam around Brittany's face as blue eyes do the same to her.

But she must have done something wrong, because Brittany ducks her head suddenly, rocking back a step and takes out her phone.

"Santana, we should be getting to the gig," she says, her voice low. "It's like four thirty, now."

Santana tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowing but she agrees anyway, despite the strange reaction. "Sure, Britt."

They edge out of the park and head down fifth avenue silently after that, and Santana checks down the street to try and spot a free taxi when she catches the way Brittany's looking distantly out into nothing, her face slightly hard and a crinkle between her brows. So she reaches over, links their pinkies together like they used to in high school and grins when Brittany snaps her head up, blue eyes meeting brown, and sighs. Although it does make her a little suspicious because she doesn't know what caused the sudden shift. They were fine before, and now it's all weird.

A cab pulls up a split second later, distracting her from her thoughts and Brittany breaks their pinkies first, sliding into the cab and letting Santana slide in after her. Leaning over to the driver, Santana murmurs the address of the venue and the cab peels away from the curb.

That doesn't stop Santana from noticing the way Brittany's scooted a little too far away from Santana on the seat.

So she says something. "Are you okay?"

Brittany twists her neck, switching her vision from out the window to Santana. "Yeah," she breathes, unconvincingly.

Raising an eyebrow, Santana examines her best friend. The usually bright blue eyes are dark, and there's something wounded in Brittany's appearance, too. It's something Santana's always been able to pick up on, and just as she's about to ask, Brittany completely shifts, brightening up and grins widely at Santana.

"So tell me about the act tonight," she asks, bouncing a little. "What's she like?"

And it's then that Santana realizes her best friend doesn't want to tell her.

So, a little disheartened and hurt, she slides her hands through her hair and talks about the night instead.

If Brittany wanted to tell her, she would.

Right?

By 8pm, they're crossing the threshold back stage with their special passes looped around their necks. The grin on Brittany's face when Santana said they were going back stage could've ripped her face in half, but hell, making her best friend that happy felt amazing. Especially after the week she's had.

Santana grabs onto Brittany's hand as they make their way through the crowd back stage in attempt to find the blonde that performed about an hour ago — the name of which skips her mind. She was just as good as Gerry had said, her voice was soft, lyrics were meaningful and emotion was strong and she'd definitely bring a new twist to Millennium Records, hence why Santana's pushing through the crowd, latched onto her best friend trying to find her.

But it's weird because she's not used to going after acts. Usually they approach her, but hey, some things are worth fighting for if they're just that good.

Santana halts to a stop in the middle of floor, craning her neck as her eyes scan the area. Brittany's front presses into her back, and her body unconsciously arches as a warmth spreads through her body, her eyes fluttering shut involuntarily as the feel of having Brittany near her hits her. It shoots straight to her groin and she tries not to focus on the feeling. This no sex rule is seriously fucking with her head.

A blonde head of hair catches her eye in the far corner, and she tugs on her best friend's wrist as they approach the performer. It's strange, because she feels like she's back as an intern, back when she had to roam around hundreds of venues and practically beg performers to even talk to her, but she focuses on the fact that she isn't in that position anymore. She's advanced to the top and soon enough, if she works hard, she's sure she could even take Gerry's job.

But anyway, as she nears the artist, the nerves sets in and she swallows, trying to push them away, putting on a business smile that she knows is both charming and capable of sealing the deal. It may sound like she's up herself, but it got her a twentieth signing and a fifty thousand dollar bonus last time so fuck it, it's totally worth it.

The nearer she gets near the performer though, she harder the realization sinks in that she has absolutely no recollection of what the the girls name is. Shit. She even tries to blink erratically to see if it'll somehow refresh her memory, but nothing comes to mind and she stills, a few meters away from the act and begins freaking out.

But of course, Brittany's right there, sensing the hesitation and leans in, ghosting her lips over the shell of Santana's ear and whispering "Quinn Fabray" like she's reading Santana's mind. It's sort of freaky, not only because she didn't even need to say it out loud for Brittany to know, but because she's pretty sure she didn't tell her, but it's not like it's the time to think about that because she's got work to do.

Right. The job.

"Excuse me," Santana mumbles, approaching the artist with a smile. "You're Quinn Fabray?"

The blonde girl turns around, revealing a dazzling set of straight teeth and bright, hazel eyes. "Uh, yes?"

With a business smile firmly pasted on her face, Santana smirks to herself. "Great. I'm Santana Lopez, A&R executive for Millennium Records." She turns and points to Brittany. "This is Brittany Pierce, and we were wondering if you would be interested in signing?" She asks, reaching into her pocket to take out a single card and hand it to Quinn.

Quinn looks at the card skeptically and twists the cap open of her water bottle in her hand to take a sip. "Um, I'm not so sure."

"Nobody signed you yet, though?" Santana pushes the card out further as Quinn walks down the hall. She spares a quick glance at Brittany who urges her forward with wide eyes, and she follows the blonde. Talking and walking it is.

"I know who you are, Santana, and I don't think Millennium is ready for my kind of music."

Quinn smiles at a few passing people, and shakes hands with a blonde guy with Justin Bieber style hair. It's not usual for Santana to be rejected by acts. Actually, come to think of it, this is the first time she's ever approached and act and it's turned her down and damn, now she only wants Quinn signed more.

Brittany trails behind, glancing at all the surrounding acts and people. Santana turns her attention back to the blonde and hands out her card once more, which Quinn rejects again.

"Why don't you take this?" Santana pushes the card out further as Quinn continues down the corridor, dodging the moving bodies coming at her. She thinks back to high school where that version of her would push the performer up against the wall, shove the card into any available space, whether that be a pocket or an open mouth, and force her to take it. But patience is a virtue, so she smiles and cocks her head to the side, following Quinn. "Just in case."

"You wanna sign me to up to your money making scheme that doesn't give a crap about the music?"

Santana steps back, but keeps her hand elevated. What Quinn said strikes a chord, because that's something she never wanted for her job, for the music industry. She only joined because she loved music and dancing so damn much, and the idea that she's working for a company that's just in it for the money, makes her thing over a few things.

"No," Santana starts. "I care about the music. You're looking for a label, right?"

She doesn't give Quinn enough time to answer, and looks around the white summer dress and denim jacket the blonde's wearing, trying to find somewhere to put the damn card. But of course, there isn't anywhere, so instead she stands there, hand hovering over Quinn's body, looking like an idiot. She hears Brittany giggle behind her and fights the smile that's curling her lips. She's trying to be professional here. Dammit Brittany.

"To be honest, Santana?" Quinn pushes her hand away and looks up apologetically. "I really don't think Millennium is ready for my kind of music. You guys are into hip hop and R'n'B, and I'm not that kind of style."

It's more difficult than she thought, and so she straightens her back and buffs her chest. Might as well give it her all.

"Well, look, Miss Fabray, we're looking to branch out and we're not just hip hop and R'n'B, despite popular opinion. I think you have an amazing voice, and could definitely do well with our label."

"Thank you, honestly, but I'm going to have to decline," Quinn says as her name is called by the blonde guy from before. "I know where you are though, so if I change my mind I'll be sure to come to you."

Quinn walks away, sending an apologetic smile over her shoulder, and Santana sinks in defeat. Brittany's standing next to her, mouth contorting uncomfortably as she tries to conceal a giggle and for a few seconds, Santana wants to be pissed off; but it's Brittany, and so it doesn't surprise her when she starts chuckling along with her best friend. It's just how it is with Brittany.

"Well, that failed," Brittany points out, giggling. "Nice one big shot."

Santana slaps Brittany's arm playfully and they head back the way they came. "Shut up. I tried didn't I?"

But before the blonde can answer, Santana feels someone tap her shoulder and she turns around, spotting a small brunette grinning at her. Her eyes flicker towards Brittany who's raising both eyebrows at the woman bouncing up and down, clasping her hands in front of her and she's pretty sure this girl performed on stage, because she distinctly remembers ducking a plastic bottle as it flew over her head at the stage toward this girl.

"Can I help you?" Santana asks, side stepping so they aren't in the middle of the hall, blocking people.

"Santana Lopez, right?" The small brunette asks, still grinning widely. "I'm Sugar Motta. I'm awesome and my voice is out of this world."

Brittany chuckles and Santana knows it's because of the name. It's kind of a ridiculous name, but it's not like she hasn't heard stranger. Damn, last week some guy from her floor signed a guy called Hugh Jass, no joke.

So she shrugs it off and raises an eyebrow. "Uhm, okay?"

"I've just been signed to Millennium Records."

Santana's mouth drops open and she can't help herself as a scoff escapes her lips. "You're joking, right?"

Sugar shakes her head. "Nope. Gerry Jenson and I had a meeting today. Even though he's a fat, perverted, and really needs to stop staring at my boobs, he offered me a contract and I accepted."

Brittany frowns to the side, her face saying what the hell and Santana knows hers is doing the same thing. Her eyes dart to the girl in front of her and she wets her lips. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry," Sugar cocks her head to the side. "I have self-diagnosed Asperger's and it means I can pretty much say what I want."

Santana's having quite a hard time believing that this is happening. She's seen so many talented acts around tonight and yet Gerry's signed this one? The one who sounded like a drowning cat? The one who was booed off stage? How is this possible!?

A hand presses to the small of her back reassuringly, and she sinks into Brittany's touch, wondering whether laughing in this woman's face would be appropriate or not. She could run away too, pretend like this never happened but she acknowledges that neither of those options is incredible professional. Although, her boss did sign this crazy ass chick and that's not exactly professional considering her voice.

"Uh, sure." She shakes her head. "Whatever."

"We have a meeting tomorrow, so I'll see you there Santana," Sugar grins and bounces in her step before heading off towards the stage.

Quinn's words come shooting through her mind—money making business that doesn't give a crap about the music— and even though she was against listening to Quinn, she wonders whether her boss is actually serious and starts to think over her job. Was Quinn right? Is the business she in just about the money?

Damn, she doesn't know. As if her life wasn't stressful enough, now her job is adding extra to it. Fucking brilliant.

She needs to talk to her boss. And she needs to talk to her boss, pronto.

"Is she serious?" Brittany whispers in her ear, breaking her from her thoughts.

Santana shudders at the proximity of her best friend, of the breath beating against her skin but she just shrugs as she looks off into the distance.

"I don't know, Britt. I just don't know."

"Sophie?" Santana calls as she gets through the front door, chucking her keys down on the table and shrugging her coat off. "Sophie, I'm home."

She barely has time to move further into the apartment when Sophie comes bounding from the bedroom and almost knocks Santana over as she cups the back of her neck with both hands, brings their lips together and kisses her hard and sloppy. Her tongue makes quick work, pushing into Santana's mouth and Santana just grabs onto her hips as she tells herself to kiss back. After all, she's had days of blunt texts and zero touching and now Sophie's all over her? What the hell?

Her hands slide down as she kisses back, stroking her tongue over Sophie's and palms grasping at her ass hard, grinding their hips together. The kiss is sloppy and deep, and Santana can already feel the effect of it shooting down to her groin, making her press up against the tight fabric of her boxers; but it doesn't stop her from deepening the kiss as pale hands wind into her hair, tugging roughly and securing their faces together as they kiss and kiss.

After a long minute, Santana pulls away, gasping for air and rests her forehead against her fiancée's. It takes another few seconds before she can regain her breath, and when she does, it comes out in short pants as she asks, "What was that for?"

Sophie pulls back further, and smiles widely. "I heard you got a bonus."

Pale fingers scratch against her scalp lightly, whilst Sophie kisses her way down Santana's jaw and neck, and usually she'd enjoy it but she's kind of distracted. It's not like she wasn't expecting her fiancée to be over the moon, but it just annoys her how one second they'll be fighting, and when money comes into the equation, bam, Sophie's right back in her arms, grinding her hips slowly and sucking on a spot that Sophie's convinced is Santana's pulse point, even though it's the other side of her neck and about five inches off.

But she nods gently anyway and continues to rub up and down Sophie's back. "Yeah, it means we can have our wedding earlier."

Sophie grins widely against her neck, and Santana pushes up lightly to feel the bulge press against the other woman's stomach, adding a little more pressure. It's not what she wants, but damn, it's all she's going to get, so might as well make it last. But Sophie clicks her tongue when she feels the motion, pulling back and putting a little space between them. Santana just huffs loudly and rolls her eyes. It feels like four years since she had sex, can't Sophie just help her get off instead?

"I've actually already booked everything," Sophie declares as she makes her way to the kitchen, shooting Santana a seductive smile over her shoulder. "All we need is to pay the caterers, the band, the party planners and then the guys who are letting us use the church at late notice, and then we can get married. And now we can do that."

Santana stands in the same spot, confused for a few seconds before she brushes down her skirt and follows Sophie. She's ecstatic that she got this bonus and all, and that the wedding is going to be soon because of it, but she doesn't really want to spend all her money on it. Anyway, aren't dad's supposed to pay for it? Father of the bride and all?

"Sophie," she starts, hopping up onto the counter. "What part is your dad having in this?"

Sophie turns, looks at her from the sink. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Santana's eyes flick around the kitchen. "Like the whole father of the bride paying for the wedding. Is he having any say in it?"

Green eyes narrow. "You're a bride, too, Santana."

"I haven't spoken to my dad in years, Sophie. You know that."

Sophie shrugs. "Maybe you should."

Sliding off the counter, Santana makes her way toward the fridge, pulling open the door and grabbing a beer from inside. If she's going to be having this conversation she's going to need some type of alcohol in her. "And maybe your dad could put a little input into this wedding. You still talk to your dad and I don't."

It's not like it was Santana's choice not to talk to her dad because if she could, she probably would. She doesn't have some deep hate for him, even if Sophie's convinced she does, it's just that her father was a strict Catholic, and he pretty much rejected anything that wasn't written in the bible which of course pushed Santana out due to her sexuality. From her birth, Santana's dad was never her biggest supporter. He thought due to her extra appendage, Santana was cursed and he decided that he wouldn't have much to do with her. Her mother was a dick, too, so it's not like she said anything in Santana's defense mostly because she would've done anything to stay with her father, including basically disowning her daughter because of a birth defect.

In any other situation, Santana would've been hurt to know she had a dad like that, but the truth was she just never really cared enough to be hurt by it. Her grandparents were accepting of her instead, and loved her for who she was, despite the whole penis and homosexuality thing; and that's all she really needed in her life. Her mom was barely around anyway, she was always working in Wall Street or pretending to do that whilst fucking her boss, and Santana's older brother of sex years moved to Hollywood in order to pursue an acting career as soon as he turned eighteen. That left Santana alone with her grandparents until she was eighteen when she went to Berkeley, studied for two years and came out with a degree in the end. She didn't need her parents, and she only proved that on her 21st birthday when she was given an internship at one of the most exclusive record label's around, and bought a large, studio apartment in downtown Manhattan.

So considering her family is sort of out the loop, Sophie asking her to speak to her dad—a man she hasn't spoken to since she left high school—is pretty fucking unfair. It pisses her off and she doesn't get how Sophie can't see that; especially because Sophie knows all about Santana's family and her past.

Realizing she hasn't spoken in about four minutes, Santana glances up, but only finds an empty kitchen before her. Despite their conversation being pretty important, Sophie's just left her here to her own thoughts. She lets out a small growl, twists the cap off the bottle and throws it onto the counter before moving toward the living room to find her fiancée sitting on the sofa, typing away furiously on her Blackberry with a suspiciously large grin on her face.

God. Sometimes Sophie can be such a bitch.

"Sophie?" Santana calls, lifting a brow. "Were we not talking?"

Sophie doesn't look up as she responds, "You zoned out. I thought I'd just wait until you came back to earth," she explains, looking up with a smile.

And it relaxes Santana. She smiles to herself, shaking her head. This is the Sophie she fell in love with, and she knows she's always there but sometimes Santana just needs to wait it out to see her.

She heads toward the sofa, sitting beside Sophie and throwing an arm over the back behind her, whilst the other arm lays flat on her own thigh, the base of the bottle pressing against her knee cap. There's some stupid ass reality show on TV, but she's not too focused on that as she stares at Sophie, taking a long pull for a beer. After a long while, Sophie notices and slowly turns, the corners of her lips curving up slightly.

"What are you looking at?"

Santana toes off her shoes as she answers, "Something beautiful."

Sophie grins and pecks Santana's lips, staring her in the eye. "Love you."

"Ditto." Santana wiggles her hips, settling in properly to the sofa as Sophie's legs swing over, calves brushing Santana's pants, right over the crotch. Almost immediately, Santana jolts up, splashing a drop of beer onto the sofa as arousal sizzles through her.

"Whoa, San," Sophie blurts out, eyes wide. "What was that?"

She doesn't answer, instead just drops her head and vision towards her pants. There's a little bulge there and when she looks up, she's expecting to see an aroused glint in green eyes—it always happens—but when she does, Sophie's staring intently at her phone, tapping away and paying absolutely zero attention to Santana or the rise in her pants. What the fuck?

But she's too tired to argue, and undoubtedly saying something about how she's being blue balled right now would, so she exhales and drops back down to the sofa, settling for, "Nothing," as an answer.

Sophie's legs swing over her lap the second her ass hits the cushions, and after about five minutes, Sophie drops her phone to the floor and cuddles up to Santana, tucked beneath her arm. She presses a kiss to the top of Sophie's head and tugs her closer, both of them just sitting together, basking in togetherness and watching the mindless idiots on Jersey Shore screaming at each other. Snooki comes on screen, and instantly Santana thinks of Rachel Berry, and wonders if short people just have a knack for being incredibly annoying. Maybe it's encoded in their midget genes.

"What do you think about a winter wedding?"

Santana sips on her beer, thinking over it for a few seconds before humming in approval. "Yeah, I think that's good. But it's November now and that gives us like, less than a month to plan it."

She feels Sophie shrugs beneath her arm. "Yeah but like I said, I've already got everything planned out. The wedding planners we hired are really efficient."

"And expensive," Santana mutters beneath her breath.

"Anyway, all we need is the funds and then we have the go ahead." Sophie turns, presses a kiss to Santana's neck. "If that's okay with you."

Santana shifts, setting her beer bottle on the floor before twisting and pushing Sophie back onto the sofa, quickly settling between her legs. Her fiancée looks thoroughly confused by the motion, but then Santana smirks down at her and she presses their lips together, kissing her softly but making sure not to let her tongue slip into it because she knows once they cross that line, she'll be needing a very cold shower. She hates those things, and fuck, she's basically been living off them for weeks. There's always another option, but her wrist is aching recently and it's just nowhere near as satisfying. Not that a cold shower is, either, but you know.

She breaks the kiss, knowing she's about to get carried away and presses kisses down Sophie's neck, grinding her hips with conscious thought. It must be obvious to Sophie though because her body goes rigid the second Santana's bulge presses against the apex of her thighs. Heat pulses through her, sizzling over her skin and she can't contain herself as she pushes a little harder. She would say it's not her fault but it totally is; she's horny and doesn't want Mrs. Palmer and her five friends to be her jack off buddy anymore. It's lame, and incredibly unsatisfying when Santana just knows she has an incredibly gorgeous fiancée in her life.

Even if said fiancée isn't willing to do anything about the constant arousal.

"Santana," Sophie warns and Santana rolls her eyes, knowing that's as much as she's going to get tonight.

Moving over, she lets her back push against the cushions behind and opens her eyes, allowing Sophie to cuddle in. She does so, and Santana wraps her arms around Sophie shoulders and back as pale arms slide around her waist, tugging close. She takes a deep breath, licking her lips and trying to sway her thoughts to something that doesn't end in slow, sweaty sex on the sofa; and that's when the wedding comes back to mind.

"Sophie, can you not even ask your dad for a little donation?" She asks, keeping her voice calm and collected. It doesn't help that the matter at hand infuriates her, but she keeps it cool. "I mean, it's only fair."

Sophie sits up abruptly, body tensing as she glares down at her. "You don't think it's fair that we're paying for our own wedding," she accuses.

"Sophie," Santana tilts her head. "Don't twist my words. I'm just saying what if we pay half and half? We pay half, your dad pays the other. It's only fair, and it's not like I'm asking for much."

Green eyes narrow at her for a few seconds, as if they're deliberating Santana's words, and all Santana can do is sit there, awaiting some kind of argument. But it never comes.

"That sounds reasonable," Sophie shrugs, nonchalantly. "I'll talk to daddy tomorrow."

"Really?"

Sophie's never been one for backing down on something she's focused on, especially when it comes to money, and so it's not a surprise that Santana's voice comes out high pitched and laced with disbelief.

Sophie smiles as she leans up, pressing their lips together firmly. A small groan escapes Santana's lips as she allows her hand to slide down, stroking over Sophie's thigh and scratching lightly at the tight black leggings covering them, but Sophie just pulls away, snuggling back into her side and slowly batting the hand away. "Yeah, babe."

And so the wedding is planned.

 

Mid December 2018

Three raps at the door and Santana tosses the document across her desk, pushes her glasses further up her nose and calls come in to the little speaker.

"Miss Lopez?"

It's Jenny, her secretary standing at the door, fingers nervously playing with each other and lower lip quivering. Santana tilts her head to the side, observing her secretary and the atmospheric fear that's buzzing around her and she finds herself smiling. "Yes?"

"I—I—" Jenny gulps audibly. "Miss—Miss Mott—Motta is here."

Santana takes a moment to scan through her mind, trying to find a face for the name. Jenny's still standing their nervously, awaiting Santana to say something, and she has it admit, it's slightly entertaining watching someone squirm because of her presence; but when the face comes to mind, she really wishes it hadn't and rolls her eyes.

"Fine," she huffs. "Let her in."

Jenny nods and swiftly escapes out the door. Only seconds later, the bouncy brunette steps into the room dressed in bright pink jeans and a bright orange top. If she's going to be here, going to work her, that girl's going to need a personal stylist, or Santana needs to start wearing sunglasses to work. Those clothes are just too freaking bright and happy. Girl needs to tone it down.

"Santana," Sugar smiles, and nods at her as he walks towards the chair, plopping down in it without invitation. "Gerry said to come and talk to you about my contract."

Santana clenches her jaw and spins her chair, trying to hide her disinterest as she focuses on the sunlight beaming over the skyline outside her window. "What about it, Miss Motta?"

"Please, call me Sugar, and I'm not best pleased with it."

Santana hesitates, trying to find the right words and tone to reply to one of her clients in; she's never been one for informality, or lack of professionalism, but Sugar is really testing her and her patience. There's a small buzzing in the room, and Santana knows it's her phone, and groans because those damn wedding planners have been calling her repeatedly for weeks. Ever since she paid that fucking ridiculous amount of twenty five grand, and Sophie's dad paid the other half, the wedding plans have been severely rushed. Her phone's been ringing constantly, she's tired and overworked, and there's that same fucking ache in the pit of her stomach that no amount of cold showers or wandering hands can satiate.

"Santana?"

Right, the job. Not the time to be thinking about weddings.

"What isn't pleasing you, Sugar?"

There's a distinct aggression in her voice, and she knows that only Brittany would be able to detect it and suddenly wishes she were here right now. Brittany would make her feel better, be a stress relief. God, she misses Brittany.

Except Brittany isn't here, and so Santana takes in a deep breath, laces her own fingers together and rests them above her blouse covered stomach, twisting back around in the chair to face Sugar.

"Well, I need to get recording and you haven't booked me any studio time."

Santana pulls her eyebrows together. "You don't have any songs to sing."

"Which brings me to my next point," Sugar announces, crossing one leg over the other. "You're kind of crap at your job."

Brown eyes widen impossibly so. "Excuse me?"

"You're really bad at your job." Sugar smiles, thinks it over and shakes her head. "No, wait. Sorry," she shrugs, grinning. "Asperger's. You're not that bad, but you're just not good." She stares at her. "But I think that's a personal reason because you're jealous of how hot I am."

A small chuckle escapes Santana's mouth, and her eyes search the room, trying to find the camera's because she's pretty damn sure she'd being Punk'd right now. But the room's the same, all the glass panes are still large and daunting, her desk is in the center occupying a majority of the space and there's picture of her and Sophie, her and Brittany and her and her brother hanging on the available spaces on the wall. Nope, no Ashton Kutcher here.

"Erm, Sugar," Santana leans forward, forearms resting against the desk now. "You're wrong, and not just kind of wrong, but really wrong."

Sugar rolls her eyes, propping her feet up on the desk and Santana shoots the girl a frightening glare, which results in the removal of said propped feet.

"What else am I supposed to think?"

Santana can't quite believe what she's hearing. "Maybe you should think that you don't have anything to sing, therefore you can't record," she says, trying to be as patronizing as possible. "Unless you're planning on releasing an album with ten tracks of three minutes silence."

"Well, no, obviously," Sugar says, dipping her voice. "You need to hire me a lyricist," she suggest, smiling brightly.

Santana gets up from her desk, pushing off and walking toward the window, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Her other hand leans against the glass pane, and she scrunches her eyes shut at the frustration buzzing through her. How is this chick serious? Music is about writing songs, about finding passion and putting them into the lyrics, and the second that pops into her mind, so does that performer from a few weeks ago, Quinn Fabray. Was she right? Is the business Santana's working in just a money making scheme that doesn't care about music? Is that why Gerry hired this stupid bitch of a singer? If she can even be called a singer.

Disappointment surges through her as she thinks of it; maybe Quinn was right. Whatever happened to the meaningful lyrics and the soul behind the song? What happened to each lyric being written from the heart? That's what real music was about. That's why Santana got into this business, and it just doesn't seem like that anymore. This Sugar chick just seems like a plot to make copious amount of money on catchy tunes that teenagers can make fun of for weeks on end, annoying friends and parents with it. Just like that stupid Rebecca Black song.

She knows she might be overreacting, but she has reason to be. She's getting married tomorrow, and she has this stupid fucking artist from Shitsville, Ohio, coming to her and saying that she's doing a bad job when this chick is just in it for the money. That's not why Santana got into this business. She spent the majority of her childhood listening to music, bobbing her head to the beat, reading the lines between the words and watching as people danced to it, moving flawlessly and in time to the mean. It's one of the main reasons why she and Brittany got along so well, because not only could she move to the beat, but her body seemed to get the emotion behind the lyrics, too, no matter if it was a party hard tune by LMFAR or a heart-wrenching tale of heartache by Adele.

Santana was the music, the one that looked beyond the beat and into the meaning, and Brittany was the dance, who felt the words, felt those meaning and used her body to show them. It's what made them best friends. It's what connected them.

So listening to Sugar fucking Motta, talk about wanting a lyricist and hinting that she's only in it to gain some dollar off a song that rhymes fucking Swagger with Jagger, really fucks Santana off.

Which is what brings her to spit this out, "Why do you even want to be in this business?"

"Fame and fortune."

Santana spins around immediately, shaking her head like she can't believe what's happening. "Don't you care about the music? The lyrics? The meaning?"

Sugar blinks at her three times before throwing her head back and bursting into laughter, and what's worse is that Santana knows it's at her and not with her. It only succeeds in pissing her off even more and she doesn't have to hear a vocalized answer to know it's a no. SO before she does some serious damage to the girl, maybe putting her in hospital and gaining a criminal record of her own, Santana storms out the room.

Her feet are leading her toward her boss' office before she even remembers, and she marches through the office floor on a mission, a comical trail of dust brewing in the distance behind her from the speed she's going. Everyone seems to recognize the anger buzzing through her which is why she ends up getting to her boss' office sooner than she thought. She doesn't even have time to think of what she's going to say before she's bursting through the door and finding her boss, sitting on a chair with a gray sheet over his shoulders as a woman stands behind him, trimming the minimal amount of hair on his head.

And that just fucks her off even more. She can't believe that yesterday he was bitching to her about having so much work to do, and yet he's sitting here on work hours getting a fucking haircut. What a dick.

"Santana!" Gerry yells as he spots her.

Santana rubs her hands together and tilts her head to the side, trying to figure out how she can say what she wants without swearing. "I've got a problem that I need to talk to you about."

Gerry nods, resting both hands together on his bloated stomach. "Go ahead."

"You hired and insult without consulting me," she starts. "And then she comes complaining at me and telling me that I'm crap at my job."

Her boss lets out a throaty laugh, waving the hairdresser off with a rude flick of her hand and then sits forward, offering out both hands, defensively. "I just saw her and had to sign her. I haven't ever seen shit like that," he tells her. "She's hot and the whole Asperger's act is freaking hilarious. It'll bring the label a new twist."

The irritation grows in the pit of Santana's stomach and she rolls her shoulders and cracks her knuckles, trying to suppress the fierce lashing she's seriously wanting to give her boss. Her heart pounds fast and hard against her ribcage, and she steps forward, cocking her hip against the back of the chair as she crosses her arms. She's not quite sure how to approach the subject without getting her ass fired. It's not usual that she's pissed off with her boss, and up until now she's pretty sure her visions been clouded, because in this moment, boss is smiling smugly at her, looking like a top asshole. It just pisses her off more.

"That's just a gimmick, Gerry. She has like no talent whatsoever." Her legs start leading her around the office in a slow pace and she emphasizes each word by waving her hands; but Gerry doesn't seem to care, and he just sits there, reaching over for a nail rile and running it over his disgusting, yellow nails like some thirteen year old girl. "She's—for lack of a better word—shit, Gerry. She's awful and will completely destroy the label"

Her boss looks up, raising both eyebrows and pauses his movements, beady eyes locked onto her. The hairdresser behind him ducks her head, sucking in both lips as if she's trying not to laugh and it calms Santana a bit. At least she knows she's getting her point across.

"Look, I went to see that act, Quinn Fabray, and she's amazing. She's talented, she sings songs that have meaning and she even writes her own lyrics. Honestly, she has heart and soul and she'll bring a new twist to this company that isn't a negative one. It's been relying on hip-hop for way too long Gerry, and Quinn can bring in some new flavor."

Once again, Gerry shrugs off his hairdresser and Santana shoots the woman an apologetic smile. The dismissal is only because she's obviously touching a nerve, and even though she should feel satisfied because of that, the hairdresser is ruining it. Damn it. She can't even catch a dam break.

"Santana, we're trying to sell records here."

"But—"

"People will actually buy Sugar's records because of her imagine. The music doesn't matter as long as we're producing records and rolling in the cash."

Santana's mouth drops open. Gerry continues to smile, and returns to filing his nails, and she's not quite sure what to make of this. She finds herself laughing incredulously before she can even think of a reply and laughs down at herself, flicking her vision up to find Gerry and his hairdresser staring at her quizzically. Apparently Quinn was right. This business is just a money making scheme and now that she's finally seen it for herself, she finds herself thoroughly pissed off with herself and questioning her position here at Millennium Records.

"See, Santana," Gerry leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. "I need that MTV rotation, and Sweet—"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Her name is Sugar."

"Whatever," Gerry dismisses her in the same manner that he dismissed his hairdresser and Santana cocks her head to the side, trying to find something to focus on that isn't the burning urge to punch her boss in his fat nose. She can't do that, and even though she's deliberating her employment here anyway, she doesn't want to go on a bad note, with a criminal record and with bruised knuckles. "But she'll get shit done, and that's what we need."

Santana scoffs. "Yeah, I can totally see her doing a cover of Big Spender as her big debut," she mutters, sarcastically.

Gerry shoots up from his chair, claps his hands together. "Exactly!" He agrees, strongly. "Now that's why I hired you, Lopez. You're good."

Santana's face drop instantly, her quaking hand fisting the bottom of her blazer and the other clutching her bicep. She was only fucking kidding about that. "Are you serious?" She almost hisses, narrowing her eyes.

Her boss just nods and laughs loudly, and it does nothing to quell Santana's anger as she rubs her hands across her face, trying to push away the red that's flashing behind her eyelids. She can feel herself getting worked up, her breathing picking up and she twists her neck, hearing the crack as she raises her eyebrow. She needs to calm down.

"You actually want me to do this?"

"Well," Gerry's face turns stern as one hand comes up to remove the gray sheet from around his neck. "If you want to work at Millennium Records then you will. It's what we do here." He throws the sheet toward his hairdresser blindly. "We make the hits, we get the money, we get rich." He stabs his finger into his other palm, marking the points as he makes them. "And if you want to feel the music, or whatever shit you want to do, you go to Virgin or Columbia." He glares at her. "But we make the profit, and we get the money in. So it's your choice, Santana, whether you want to do this."

Closing her eyes, Santana begins to take in deep, calming breaths. She can just imagine Brittany leaning in next to her, whispering calm down into her ear and already she feels herself calm down a little, already feels a cool wave crash over the bubbling anger curdling with her stomach. So she opens her eyes, but finds Gerry closer than before, standing in front of her with one of his cake holder hands moving to her shoulder, resting on the blouse there. She immediately reacts with a cringe, and she swallows hard, trying not to move away in disgust because she just knows from that position, he can see down at her cleavage and she swears if she even sees his eyes flit down there, she's gonna hit him.

"Look, Santana. Take the rest of the day off. I'll deal with Sweet—" Santana rolls her eyes and doesn't even bother correcting him again. "And you go and marry that fine ass woman of yours." He shakes her a little. "Have a nice honeymoon, and we'll talk when you get back."

She would love to object, shout at him, and maybe give him a backhander or two, or even kick him really hard in the groin, but the image of her fiancée walking down the aisle comes to mind, and she finds herself not wanting to argue.

All anger dissolves immediately, and she runs her finger through her hair, exhaling loudly through her nose as she nods. "Yeah, okay."

With that, she walks out.


	5. Chapter Five

Santana's not entirely sure how she got here, why she's here, when the hell it got so damn dark or what the hell she's been doing in the past eight hours since she left her office.

All she knows right now, is that it's 11pm, and she's standing outside Brittany's apartment, staring at the door like she's trying to use mind powers to open it.

Her cell phone has been buzzing constantly in her pocket for the past few hours, but she knows it's probably just Sophie worrying about her and wondering where the hell she is; but Santana doesn't really want to talk to her. The text she sent after leaving her office was pretty vague—running along the lines of I've been told to leave work—but it has enough information in her opinion, and honestly, she doesn't really care if Sophie's worrying. Not right now, anyway.

The only thing other she's remotely aware of is that she probably shouldn't be here. It's not like she's not allowed to be, it's just one hell of a statement that she came to her best friend's house after being dismissed from work, instead of going home and spending the rest of her day with her fiancée whom she's getting married to tomorrow. It definitely says something, even if Santana's not sure what it says.

But she doesn't even have enough time to figure it out, or decide whether she's going to knock or just walk away because the door to Brittany's apartment swings open, and suddenly there's Brittany, standing in front of her with her hair tied into a messy bun on her head, zero make-up on and an incredibly small towel wrapped around her body, covering all the pieces that shouldn't exposed, but leaving little to the imagination.

Santana guesses the just interrupted Brittany before a shower, because she's like almost one hundred percent sure that Brittany's probably naked under that towel, or almost naked, but she doesn't really think about that. All she thinks about is how Brittany's showing a lot of skin and because they've been best friends for seventeen years, Santana knows that the skin that is covered is probably done so by incredibly skimpy, verging-on-the-edge-of-non-existent, underwear. Fabric that is way too expensive considering the amount, but is sexy as hell and Santana gulps loudly, knowing she's thinking about her best friend in a way she most definitely shouldn't be.

(It doesn't help that when they were eighteen, Santana walked in on Brittany in a pair of very small, lacy, black lingerie.)

She manages to tear her eyes away, realizing she's leering, too and squeezes her eyes shut. Damn this fucking no sex rule.

"San?" Brittany calls, waving her hand in front of Santana's face. "What are you doing here?"

Letting out a small chuckle, Santana looks at her best friend, sees the worry and lets it sink in. She feels comfortable now that she's with Brittany, and not angry like she has been all day long. "How did you know I was here?"

"Instinct," Brittany replies with a grin, one hand holding up the edge of the towel whilst the other is still holding the door open. "Are you coming in or shall I just leave the door open so you can let all my heating out?"

Santana giggles in response and brushes past the blonde, shrugging off her bomber jacket and throwing it over the back of the sofa.

It's the first time she's actually been in Brittany's apartment since she moved to New York, and she takes a moment to smile at the things that just scream Brittany. The half drunken cups of coffee on any available flat surface, the various gossip magazines next to them, the few unpacked boxes next to the small bookcase behind her stacked with DVD's and various Shakespearean books that Brittany loves. Not to mention the soft vanilla scent flowing from the kitchen which tells Santana that Brittany was baking earlier.

Damn. She already feels less pissed off than before just being in here.

"So," Brittany perches on the arm of the chair after shutting the door. "What's up?"

Santana groans and chucks herself down on the sofa, legs sprawled out across the width of it whilst she buries her nose into the crook of her elbow. "You know that chick from the gig? Sugar something?"

Brittany hums and a small smile graces Santana's face. "Well, Gerry signed her, like you know, and she came into my office today and complained at me."

She feels Brittany move, and sit next to her hip. A few of Brittany's fingers brush against her forehead seconds later, and she removes her arm to look up into bright blue eyes.

"Why didn't you go to Gerry about it then?" Brittany asks softly, cocking her head to the side.

"I did," Santana sighs. "And he basically told me that he was in it for the profit, not the music."

Brittany pinches her lips up at the side, brows furrowing. "I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"Britt, please spare me the bullshit," Santana mumbles, making sure she doesn't let out her anger on her best friend with an infuriated tone. "I know you think it, too. I could feel that look from a mile away when we were backstage."

The blonde shuffles, and Santana feels the top of her thigh brush against the clad-covered towel of her best friends back. It's too close, and it's hard enough knowing her incredibly attractive best friend is sitting next to her in virtually nothing. She groans, and almost panics until she knows if Brittany questions it, she can blame it on the anger. Her eyes crack open the smallest bit and see a pink bottom lip disappear between brilliantly white teeth.

Damn. Santana's never noticed how pink those lips are.

"Honey, it's not your fault. Didn't you say you were thinking about leaving Millennium anyway?"

Santana closes her eyes and throws her arm over her face again. Yes, she had said she was thinking about leaving Millennium, but that was before the cost of the wedding, before the damn economy went up, and before she started thinking about money and everything it entails—clothes, food, bills and all that other stuff.

"Yeah, I know, and I was ready to as well but then I just thought about money and just—" she breathes out deeply, and she can even hear the anger as she does so. "I can't. Sophie wants this big ass wedding, and I had to pay for half of it, instead of her damn dad paying all of it like he fucking should."

Her hearts pounding hard, and she gulps, feeling the tears well up behind her eyes. She can't cry. She won't cry. Sure, the last few weeks have been ridiculously frustrating, there's been a constant ache attacking her brain, and she's formed an immunity to pain relief because of her high consumption, but crying won't solve it and she doesn't want to look pathetic. She's getting married tomorrow for fuck sake, she should be happy, excited, bouncing around like a rabbit on speed. Not practically sobbing on her best friend's sofa, being comforted by said best friend.

But Sophie has constantly been on her back, and now work is getting fucking harder and it's all getting too much to take. The only thing that's actually kept a smile on her face is the girl she's sitting next to now and the only reason she's actually smiled in the last few weeks, is because of Brittany, too. But all the aggravation still makes her feel like she's underwater, like she can't breathe or get out. All the stress is still making the room blur as it spins violently and it's too much. And each one of her damn breaths for the last month or so, have sounded like fucking drums in her ears and she just wants to get rid of all of it.

Which is probably why she's here right now.

"I punked out," she breathes. "Like a chump." Santana scolds herself, wishing there was a brick wall she could bang her head against a few times. Maybe that would help.

Cool fingers graze against the inside of her wrists, and she allows them to tug away her arm, covering her face. Brittany stares down at her, shaking her head with an eyebrow raised. "You didn't punk out, San."

"I did."

Brittany blinks. "No, you didn't."

Santana's the one to raise an eyebrow this time. "You have to admit I punked out a little bit." Brittany shakes her head again. "Come on, not even a bite size, tiny, miniscule bit?"

The blonde's mouth drops down at the sides and tighten like she's trying to hide what she's about to say and Santana takes that as a yeah okay. She drops her arm back over her face and groans loudly into the crook of her elbow. For fuck sake. Why couldn't she have just left Millennium right there and then? Nothing's keeping her there, she could've just left and not looked back.

Fuck.

"See," Santana growls, sitting up and away from her best friend so her back's propped up against the arm of the sofa. "Even you think it."

Brittany scoots closer, grabs both of Santana's hands and laces their fingers together. It feels like her palm is burning, the feel of heat and cold mixing together. It's strange for a few seconds, but not uncomfortable, and initial shock fades quickly, leaving her feeling comforted. Plus, it calms her brain, and no doubt if she was telling Sophie this, she'd be biting Santana's head off and lecturing her.

This is what she loves about Brittany.

"San," Brittany whispers, bringing one of their clasped hands up to tilt her chin up. "San, look at me."

Santana takes a deep breath in and runs her tongue along the back of teeth before looking up through her lashes into bright blue eyes. The room stops spinning immediately, and she no longer feels like she's drowning. Everything that's been causing this disorientation for the past few weeks has just blurred out into the background now, all because of her best friend. All because of Brittany. That's what best friends do, it's not out of the ordinary.

(Right?)

"Everyone sells out sometimes, you can't hate yourself for getting stressed and caving. Even the best of us do it," Brittany reasons. "Not that you're not the best, because you are. You're pretty awesome, but it's just how you survive through your career."

Santana grins and rubs her thumb over the smooth skin of Brittany's hand. Her eyes fall upon their threaded fingers, watching the marvelous mix of complexions, caramel and cream and it's like some delicious candy that your grandpa used to give you when you were young and sat by his feet on Christmas morning. It makes her happy, and it must show on Santana's face because Brittany giggles and she finds the blonde grinning widely, showing every tooth on the top row of her teeth.

"I've done it."

Santana frowns. "Done what?"

"Sold out," Brittany explains. "I went out for a date with the head of Pineapple studios to get an interview."

Something twinges in the pit of Santana's stomach and she almost jerks in reaction. but then Brittany squeezes her hands, before dropping them and standing up, tucking one side of the towel underneath her arm and holding it together by her thigh, with the other.

Santana just ignores the tingling in her palm, craving for Brittany's touch again and buries her face into her hands. "When did it all get so complicated? I mean, all I wanted to do was music, and now I'm not doing that. I'm just being used as a cog in some money-making machine with some fat ass ordering me around."

It comes out as a muffle, mostly because her lips are pressed into her palms and she feels Brittany move around the room. The air in front of her warms, and fingers curl around her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. Her eyes squint quickly at the light intrusion, before glancing up and landing on her best friend standing above her.

She needs a hug from Brittany, because she's in one of those moods, like she's on the edge of the Earth, watching her life fall off it, piece by piece until they float around carelessly in gravity like nothing in her life matters. And there's nothing stopping her from joining them, detaching herself from the world and falling into the pit of nothingness. Not unless she gets a hug from her best friend, not unless her best friend secures her to the Earth, pulling them together like they're one.

It's an intense feeling, one that only Brittany can give her and it's like nothing she's felt before. She used to question that, used to wonder just how deep that feeling ran but she knows it's just what best friends do. It's what best friends are for and that's what they've always been, and always will be.

"Come here," Brittany demands softly, tugging at her wrists until Santana pulls up. It's almost freaky how she can read Santana and sometimes she does wonder whether Brittany is telepathic.

Her arms wrap around Brittany's body, pulling tightly so they're flush against each other. Brittany slides her arms around her neck, pulling tightly too so her chin rests on a pale shoulder. Blonde hair tickles the end of her nose, but she doesn't care; she needs that life-saving hug. She needs to be routed down to Earth and that's what she's getting.

"You'll be alright," Brittany utters quietly, breath beating against her neck. "Just trust yourself."

She feels one of Brittany's hands run up the nape of her neck, and slide through her dark locks until they tangle there, securing them together like she never wants to break from this hug. Brittany's body is warm against hers, even through the few layers of fabric and her heart warms with it, like she's been cold for so long, and Brittany's the heat she's been searching for. Her best friend's scent intoxicates her, and instead of the room spinning, her mind starts spinning and she loves it. She loves the effect Brittany has on her, like she's special because she's a better person when she's around Brittany. It's not the first time she's felt like this either.

"Do you remember when we went to that Indigo Girls concert?"

Brittany hums.

"That was a good night," Santana breathes as she squeezes Brittany tighter. She feels safe, wrapped up in her best friends arms just makes her feel more secure and comfortable than she's ever been before. It's like she can smile and be goofy and not worry about stupid weddings, and honeymoons and making sure she performs correctly.

Oh, shit.

That reminds her.

"San?" Brittany asks as she pulls away and looks deeply into Santana's eyes, only inches away from her face. "What's wrong?"

Again, she doesn't even need to say anything to let Brittany know something's wrong. Her eyes dart from each bright blue eye and she bites her bottom lip, suddenly nervous about tomorrow.

"I don't know... I—I was just thinking about tomorrow."

The blonde steps away, putting a good meter between them before she readjusts her towel. Santana sits down once more, and rests on hand on her thigh whilst the other rubs at the side of her neck, eyes staring at the floor intently. It hits her that not only is she going to be married tomorrow, but she's got to live up to this amazing night Sophie's been planning. For weeks Sophie's been going on about how good the wedding night will be, how the lack of sex will be made up for.

What if she doesn't live up to it?

She's never been conscious of her sexual skills before, or ability to please her partner either, but ever since the no sex rule came up—and they ended up having heavy make-out sessions on the kitchen floor, sofa, wherever available—Sophie's pulled away and said 'it'll be worth it'. But what if Sophie's been building up for so long, that it's just a disappointment? Like when a film comes out, and everyone rants about it for ages and says how good it is and and then finally when you see it, you kind of find yourself wondering what the big deal was.

Fuck.

What if it's like that?

What if she's shit?

Damn, if she wasn't freaking out enough, now she is.

"Britt?" There's a distinct edge of panic to her voice, and she clears her throat, trying to push it away.

"I'm here," Brittany reassures, heading towards Santana and kneeling in front of her. Santana looks up, brown meeting blue and pale and caramel fingers threading together. "You'll be fine, I'm here."

She breathes out heavily and feels her body deflate a little. There's a balloon of pressure building on her chest and it's causing her vision to blur. She squeezes her eyes shut, just feeling the smooth thumb pad running over her head, the hot breath blanketing her face as Brittany rests their foreheads together and it relaxes her a bit, but it still doesn't help.

Until she has an idea.

"Britt," she takes in a shaky breath. "What do, um—" she coughs. "What would you…" She searches through her mind, trying to find the right word. "What would you suggest to make tomorrow—um," Cough. "What would you to to make tomorrow night like, amazing?"

The whole situation isn't foreign to Santana. She and Brittany have talked about sex and even traded damn stories, but there's something awkward about asking her now. The last time they talked about having sex, Santana ended up being incredibly turned on and had to run to the bathroom to bang one out. That was something she'd never forget. It's not like she's a guy and gets turned at every available thing because she's still a woman. She still has the mind of a woman, just the genitalia of a man, but sometimes she does get a little more turned on than normal women should.

Brittany pulls away, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Santana shuffles and coughs again. Fuck, the nervous coughs are getting pretty annoying. "Like, you know the whole no sex rule with me and Sophie?"

Brittany nods, as if she's pretending to get where Santana's going and Santana taps her foot on the ground a few times, unable to prevent it from moving nervously. She takes her bottom lip between her teeth and chews, wondering how she can ask Brittany for advice without actually asking because that's kind of embarrassing.

"Yeah…" Brittany draws out the word.

Should Santana just come out with it? Brittany isn't going to judge her, and damn, she knows that. Brittany didn't even blink an eye when Santana told her in middle school that she owned "what boys do down there" and especially when she said "I'm gay," Brittany hugged her and said, "we have half of that in common then", so she knows that saying she's worried won't affect Brittany.

But it's still feels weird.

"What if I don't meet her expectations?"

Glancing up at her best friend, she thinks that Brittany doesn't get it, but as she opens her mouth again, blue eyes widen and fair eyebrows rise. Guess she does.

"Um, I'm sure you'll meet her... Expectations, San. It's not like it's your guys first time together."

Santana shrugs, still not convinced. "Yeah, but it's our first time as a married couple; and if tomorrow night doesn't go well then, I mean, she's gonna flake on me and think that's how it will be for the rest of our lives."

"You're being silly, Santana."

Brittany turns and leans her back against the bookshelf, staring at Santana like this is a normal conversation that best friends have every single day.

"Look," Santana starts, looking everywhere in the room that isn't Brittany. "Could you like…"

Brittany cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes. "Could I what?"

"Givemesometips."

Santana doesn't bother looking up to gauge her best friend's reaction. Instead she focuses intently on her nail cuticles and listens to Brittany shuffle around. There's nothing but silence for about seventy four seconds,and when the silence gets too much, she forces herself to look up, only to find Brittany no longer standing by the bookshelf. All the nerves flush straight out her body as she searches the room, and she turns her head in swift motions from side to side, trying to find her best friend. Where the hell did she go?

"Britt-Britt?"

Brittany waltzes back into the room, no longer wearing a towel but instead sporting a pair of gray sweats and a baggy black t-shirt. She's got her arms bent in the air as she ties up her damp, blonde hair into a loose ponytail, and Santana only grows more curious as to what the hell she's doing.

"Uh, Britt?"

"Yeah?" Brittany responds in the same old cheerful manner, joining Santana on the sofa, one leg tucked under the other so their knees are brushing.

"What are you doing? Where did you go?"

Brittany picks at a loose thread of the sofa. "To get changed, obviously."

"I see that," Santana says with a smile. "But weren't we in the middle of a conversation?"

"Well I couldn't give you sex tips in a towel now could I? Remember what happened last time I gave you tips?"

Santana frowns in disapproval. "I'm not a guy, Britt. I don't get turned on every two seconds."

"I know," Brittany reassures. "You're not a guy. I wasn't saying that. You just seem a little more on edge now since the whole no sex thing was put in place."

It's pissing her off, but she knows Brittany would never call her a guy. She's not like that, and she remembers the last person that called her a guy after he caught her 're-adjusting' herself and made a crude comment about whether she was sorting out her dick down there. Skipping to the end, he ended up walking away, clutching his nose to stop the blood from streaming out, and Santana remembers telling Brittany, and how angry Brittany had got at that guy before Santana even managed to get to the end of her tale.

"I think your words were, 'I'm like a lizard, I need sometime warm beneath me or I can't digest my food,'" Brittany recites with a grin.

A chuckling Santana replies, "Yeah, I remember."

"Right, well, um, tell me if you get a little—" blue eyes lock onto her groin. "Uncomfortable during this conversation," she winks. "Just tell me and I'll send you to the nearest bathroom."

Brittany reaches across and tucks an errant strand of Santana's hair behind her ear and Santana fights the urge to lean into the touch, instead resting her back against the arm of the sofa once more. What the hell is wrong with her? And what the hell is that tingling feeling in her stomach? Maybe she ate something funny earlier.

"So anyway, teach me, wise one."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

It feels like high school all over again. Brittany telling Santana how to make a girl come, what way she should twist her fingers or thrust towards to hit that spot or how a rolling of her tongue could send a girl into the most earth-shattering orgasm she will ever encounter; but this time around, it makes her feel just that slightest bit uncomfortable and she doesn't know why.

Santana shrugs, not sure of what she wants. "I don't know."

Brittany sits forward, arms resting on her crossed legs. "Well, is your aim to make love to her or make her come in under two minutes?"

"Make love, I think."

"Well done," Brittany muses. "Part one complete."

"Shut up," Santana mumbles, crossing her arms and feigning a frown. "This is embarrassing."

"San, we've done this like millions of times before. The only thing that's changed is the skill level and practice."

There's a weird grumbling feeling in the pit of her stomach, and thoughts of Brittany with other guys flash through her mind. They're unwanted, and frankly, pretty damn unpleasant. She doesn't want anyone touching her best friend like th—Wait… What?

"So, suck it up." Brittany adds with a smile, cutting Santana off from her wandering mind. "First, you're going to want to start slow and sensual, so maybe foreplay?"

Santana nods. "Okay."

"Right, well, first start off by kissing her gently, sliding your hand behind her neck and securing your faces together, like you never want to stop what you're doing. You need to make sure she feels safe, and comfortable."

Santana shifts uncomfortably. It's like Brittany's explaining to Santana how to take someone's virginity again. "Britt, you're making it sound like Sophie's a virgin."

Brittany shrugs. "Well if you want to make love to her, you're going to have to pretend she's a virgin. That's how soft, gentle and caring you've got to be. I mean, you've made love to her before haven't you?"

Santana frowns and thinks back on all of the time she's slept with Sophie. Each one of the times, they've mostly been frantic and needy. Come to think of it, she can't actually remember a time where she was thinking shit, we're making love because she'd remember that. That's a pretty big thing.

Blue eyes widen. "You haven't made love to her?"

"What's the difference anyway?" Santana says, trying to wave of the daunting realization.

Brittany leans forward and rests her hands on top of Santana's. "Trust me, you'll know when you do it."

"So—" she clears her throat. "You've made love with someone?"

The blonde laughs throatily and removes her hands, settling back. "No," she shakes her head, smiling. "To make love to someone, you have to be in love with them and I've never been in love." She shrugs. "Plus I know what it's like to fuck, and to have sex."

Santana's face contorts with shock horror. There's a difference between fucking and having sex? What!?

"And yes, there's a difference between those two as well."

Completely shocked by this information, Santana leans forward further until she's about ten inches away from Brittany's face. "There is?"

It makes her feel stupid. It's like she's a virgin all over again, learning about the ins and outs of sex, learning where to stick it, and what to expect. It makes her uncomfortable, and her hands fiddle with themselves to reflect the emotion. Why does this feel like sex education all over again?

Brittany nods. "Yeah, like, if you're fucking someone, you're on a mission to get yourself off. You're taking control and doing whatever you want to make sure you come and most of the time kissing isn't involve. Kind of a friends with benefit type relationship."

Santana's eyes widen comically, and she's pretty sure her mouth is going to catch flies soon as it's hanging open that wide.

"If you're having sex with someone, you like them, you respect them enough and it's getting both of you off. You're both aiming for the same goal: to come, one after the other, or sometimes at the same time if you're skilled involved. Most of them time the two people kiss, but it's sloppy and frantic because of you know," Brittany smirks. "The thrusting."

Santana nods, and wishes she had a damn notebook or something to note this down in. Even though she's getting married tomorrow, this is like valuable information and wants to memorize it. Sure, she's definitely had her fair share of sex but now she's re-evaluating all the times and marking them up against this description that Brittany's giving her, and she doesn't like what comes to mind when thinking about Sophie and the last time they had sex.

Well, apparently not having sex. They were fucking.

"And if you're making love to someone, you're in love with them. You'd do absolutely anything to make sure they reach their goal, and that they have the most amazing orgasm they've ever had."

Blue eyes soften, and Santana gulps. Her heartbeat picks up in speed, and she finds her swallowing against a thickened throat. Brittany's staring at her with cloudy blue eyes, sparkling and beautiful. She's never really taken a long amount of time to look into those eyes, because last time she did—about four summers ago—she blurted out that she thought they should give it a go, like go on a date and see how things went. It was a long time ago, but she knew she had felt something more for than friendship for Brittany, and now she's thinking about it, she's not sure when it went away. Or even if it has—

No. Of course it's gone away. It has to have donebecause she's with Sophie.

Right?

"You don't care about yourself," Brittany continues, voice soft. "And your bodies mold together like they're meant to fit. You do everything you can to make it special. You kiss every available piece of skin with gentle lips. You move your hands and bodies slowly and sensually, and you make sure you look into her eyes as you drag out the movements and try to hit that spot."

Brittany licks her lips, and Santana feels her throat thicken further. She never did know the elaborated reason why Brittany had rejected her proposal of a date, and she doesn't know why she's thinking of it. It had hurt when she heard the no more than she thought it would. She remembers the way her chest felt like it was giving in on her, like the blood was draining away from her being and heart aching, even though nothing had happened between them. And sure, Santana knew Brittany thought it was 'because they were too good friends', and 'anything more would jeopardize their friendship,' she felt like there was something more there. Something Brittany wasn't telling her, something she didn't know and she'd never thought to question it.

Not until now anyway. Not until she's here, staring deeply into Brittany's eyes like she can see straight into her soul; like nothing else exists and it's just them, and it seems like Brittany loves that, too. Don't get her wrong, Santana's always known their friendship wasn't a standard one, because it was always like there was something more there, something more that other best friends didn't have. Maybe it's because they know each other better than they know themselves. Maybe it's because Brittany's the only one that's ever truly been accepted into Santana's family—and that's pretty damn hard to do—but whatever it is, it makes them special.

"If you make love to someone, you'll feel everything they feel, and sometimes you'll tumble over the edge together and it'll feel like the most magical thing to have ever happened between you two." Brittany's eyes bore into Santana's. "It'll link you together, connect you, and you'll always have that special tether between you because of it."

It's not until now that Santana finds herself looking at Brittany in the same way, like nothing else exists. Her eyes are tracing every move Brittany makes, the subtle brushes of hair, the slow, heavy pants escaping her mouth, even the small shade of red flushing her cheeks. If she didn't know any better, she'd think—

No. It can't be.

Wait... Is Brittany's turned on?

"Wow," she breathes, a mixture between surprise and what she can only feel to be some tense, deep arousal. "That's, um... That's intense."

Brittany breathes out quickly and clears her throat. "Yeah," she says with a smile. "Intense." She shifts, straightens up. "So, does that help?"

Technically, it doesn't really help because Santana's still not sure of what the hell she's supposed to do. It's not like she was looking for gruesome details—well, okay, she kind of was—but she needs a bit more than that. Except now she can feel herself heating up, and she's not sure she could go on; she doesn't need to make herself seem like some sex crazed monkey.

So she settles for a nod and a quick smile, hiding the arousal lingering within. "Yeah, um, thanks."

Brittany grins back and they both delve into silence. Santana's eyes dart around the room, and she coughs before looking at her phone.

"Shit!" She mutters, jumping up from the sofa. "It's 1am!"

Blue eyes stare at her, confused. "So?"

"I'm getting married in like, twelve hours."

Saying the words, she doesn't actually feel nervous or uneasy which is kind of weird. She finds herself looking at Brittany like she's searching for some sort of reaction, but there's nothing, and she doesn't know why she was looking. "Sophie's going to be pissed."

"Why?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Because I'm not home."

"You're not supposed to see the bride on her wedding day. It's bad luck."

"I know."

Brittany pushes off the couch and joins Santana in the center of the room, lacing their fingers together. "So, unless you feel like sleeping on a park bench, I suggest we get you to bed."

No reaction reaches her face, even though she's pretty sure her heart just stopped and her palms are getting clammy. The blue eyes in front of her are soft, and weirdly warm despite the connotations that come with the color. "Are you sure?"

"You're my best friend," Brittany tells her, moving away and picking up a few books from inside one of the unpacked boxes. "And you're getting married tomorrow, so we're going to put these books away, and then we're going to bed, okay?"

Santana manages to nod, and she doesn't know why the hell she's reacting so weirdly. They've had millions of sleepovers, throughout their childhood and teenage hood—or whatever it's called—and they practically shared Brittany's room. But maybe it's because they're not children or teenagers anymore. They're twenty four. They're adults, and they're having a sleepover. If that isn't unusual, she doesn't know what is.

But then again, since when has their friendship ever been usual?"

"Sure Britt," Santana walks over to the box and picks up a few books, loading them into the half-empty bookshelf. "Thank you."

Brittany shrugs and bumps their shoulders together with a grin. "No problem."

It's 2am when they head towards Brittany's room.

They've never slept apart, but they're adults so Santana just assumes that her best friend has a blow up mattress or a few blankets she can sleep on. The hardwood floor in December isn't exactly the warmest thing in the world but she doubts they'd be sleeping in the same bed together, but when they arrive in Brittany's room—which is Brittany much the grown up version of Brittany's teenage bedroom—she just hands Santana a t-shirt and boxers and smiles sweetly, not going into the cupboard to fetch the blow up mattress Santana knows Brittany has stored away.

"Uh, Britt?" Santana asks warily. "Are we going to be sleeping in the same bed?"

Brittany's narrow-eyed as she turns. "Is that a problem?"

"No, it's cool." She wanted to say yes, because truthfully, her gut is telling her it is a problem. Sophie probably wouldn't be happy about it, but in all honesty ,the way she's feeling now she doesn't care. Brittany's her best friend and so what if they sleep in the same bed? It's not like they're going to have sex or make out or anything.

"Good." Brittany smiles and winks before disappearing into the bathroom.

Santana makes quick work of her clothes, relieved when her member is freed from its skin-tight confinement and slips on the boxers. She expects to find her at least slightly hard, because the feeling she got when Brittany was talking about making love was like the one she gets whenever she's aroused; but as she sees herself flaccid, she furrows her brows and wonders what the hell that feeling was. Like butterflies, but tingling butterflies. Maybe even fireflies. Strange.

Her phone starts beeping on the floor, and she looks down to see the light illuminate through the fabric of her pants pocket. It's not clear, but she can make out the fuzzy image of her and Sophie popping up on screen and so she bends down and picks it up. A quick glance over her shoulder tells her that Brittany's still in the bathroom, so she slides quietly out the bedroom door and into the hallway.

"Hey," Santana whispers into the phone. "You alright?"

"Where are you?"

Well that was a warm welcoming. "I'm staying out for the night. It's past midnight, and we can't see each other before the big day now can we?" Santana says with a grin.

Sophie sighs on the end of the phone. "I miss you, babe."

"I miss you, too, but we'll see each other later. I'll be the one in white." Santana grins and fiddles with the hem of her top.

"So will I, Santana." Sophie muses, chuckling lightly. "But I won't be tomorrow night."

It sends shivers down Santana's spine and she licks her lips after gulping loudly. "Sophie, you can't do that to me."

"I'll stop the teasing when you start the pleasing."

It sounds like some lame Celibacy Club slogan and she finds herself snorting at her fiancée; but an unamused hum comes down the phone, and she bites both lips, holding it in. "Can't wait."

"Me neither."

Santana hears some rustling down the end of the phone, and she furrows her brows when she's pretty sure she hears the echo of someone calling Sophie's name. "Is someone there with you?"

"Nope," Sophie answers a little too quickly.

Suspicion runs through Santana, but then she hears the click of the bathroom door opening and knows Brittany's out. "I gotta go, okay?"

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Love you."

Santana smiles. "Yeah, looking forward to it. Love you, too."

The phone rings out and Santana tucks it into the waistband of her boxers as she creeps back into Brittany's bedroom. She cracks the door open slowly, not entirely sure why she's doing so as she knows Brittany's awake, but does it anyway.

"Was that Sophie?" The voice is soft and if Santana didn't know any better, she could swear it's sad, too.

She sidles up to the left side of the bed, knowing Brittany's on the right and slides in next to the source of the voice. "Yeah."

The covers lie gently on top of her stomach and she folds her hands to keep it there. Years of sharing a bed with Brittany, Santana knows the blonde is a sheet-stealer, and she always used to wake up shaking from the cold, and she'll be damned if after all these years it happens again.

"Is she okay?" Brittany asks softly, twisting until she's on her side and facing Santana.

Santana feels the gaze on her, and she knows Brittany can sense her distress. It's silly, she shouldn't be getting suspicious of her fiancée, or who her fiancée's with because it's the night before their wedding for fuck sake. Plus, Sophie's trustworthy, and loyal. It's ridiculous to even think that Sophie's hiding something from her, but it doesn't stop her from worrying, and feeling the strange tingle in the pit of her stomach; even if that tingle has never been wrong before.

Santana rolls her head to the side, and even in the darkness she can see her best friend's blue eyes. "Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

Santana hums, but knows ultimately her bullshit is going to be called on. "Yeah."

Pale fingers creep onto her forearm, and trail an invisible line on the inside of her wrist, up her forearm until the crook of her elbow, where it stops and slides back down, repeating the circuit. Her body relaxes into the touch, and her heart beat quickens.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

She returns her eyesight to the ceiling and bites on her bottom lip. "No, Britt, I do. I just—" She pauses. "I thought I—" She doesn't know how to say it without sounding like a pathetic, jealous wife, when she isn't even one yet. "I thought I heard—"

When the words fail to come out properly, due to her thinking it's ridiculous for the thoughts to even be in her mind, Brittany props herself up on her elbow and looks down at Santana. "You thought you heard what?"

"I thought I heard someone when I was on the phone."

Brittany tilts her head curiously. "Like who?"

Santana shrugs. "I'm not sure," she sighs. "I'm probably just getting cold feet and trying to think of things to freak me out."

She feels Brittany press her toes to her own, and she actually realizes she does actuallyhave cold feet. Brittany giggles and flinches slightly, before moving in and snuggling into Santana's side. It's something they've always done though, so it's not strange. Throughout the winter nights as teenagers they'd always end up snuggling and cuddling, trying to get some type of warmth because neither of them wanted to get up to turn the heating on, so this is just like standard procedure.

"You do have cold feet, San," Brittany says, brightly.

Santana laughs and throws her arm over her best friend's shoulder, pulling them closer together. "Then you can be my human size pair of socks."

She feels Brittany pick at the fabric of her top, and soft skin graze against the slither of skin between her boxers and top and oh shit, she's suddenly hyper-aware of how Brittany's touching her, how Brittany looked earlier and how close they are. She doesn't know what she's feeling, the physical signs are sweaty palms, an accelerated heart beat and a thickened throat but what the hell does that mean? Is it she sick?

"Britt, can you feel my forehead?"

When Brittany looks up at her, she's not really sure why, but she can't seem to tear herself away from the blonde. "Sure. Are you not feeling good?"

She nods.

"Okay," Brittany whispers, raising her hand until the back of it presses against Santana's forehead.

There's instant relief, because Brittany's hand is soft, and cool, and it feels really fucking good. Maybe even a little too fucking good because her eyes flicker down to pink lips, watching the tongue inside poke out and wet them. Her fingers pluck at the soft cotton on Brittany's tank top without conscious thought and she smiles as blue eyes move down an inch from where they were fixated on her forehead.

Their eyes meet, and it seems then they're both completely aware of how close they are, how warm both their bodies are against one another, and how this little movement has suddenly locked them in some sort of daze they can't get out of.

Her breaths are quickening, and they're heavier and deeper, coming from every crevice inside of her lungs and Brittany's hand slides down her face, lingering over her brow, down her cheekbone and to her jawline. There's something so soft about Brittany's eyes, they're so blue, and inviting, especially when they're coming towards her; but then Brittany pecks the end of her nose, and settles back into her side, nuzzling her head into the crook of Santana's neck, effectively breaking them out of the weird stupor they seemed to be in.

The spot on her nose where Brittany's lips were a second ago tingles, and she bites down the urge to touch the skin, to see if the sparks she's feeling are actually there. The atmosphere seems heavier than usual, and she finds herself frowning and breathing even deeper than she ever has before.

Damn it. It feels like she's on drugs or something. Maybe she should talk, maybe that'll lighten the air and do something about this damn feeling inside of her chest.

But Brittany breaks the silence, first. "So, are you nervous about tomorrow?"

Santana can't seem to shake herself from what's she's feeling. Her stomach's flipping, her mind's swimming and it feels like she's routed to this spot, even if she wanted to get up, she couldn't. There's still a heavy bloom of something hanging over their heads, and she finds herself taking a deep breath that kind of screams I'm not okay. She hasn't really been thinking about tomorrow apart from the sexy part because in all honesty, as much as she's been looking forward to it and wanted it, right now, lying in bed with Brittany, is something that she thinks, she might want more.

But she can't say that. She doesn't feel anything for Brittany and not because she can't, but because she won't.

Under the covers, Brittany slides her hand gently down Santana's arm, tickling over her palm before playing lightly with her fingers, trailing to the tips and back down again. There's hot breath hitting the side of her neck, and Santana forces herself not to look down because… Well, she can see what will happen. But she's not sure if she's forcing herself because she doesn't want too, or because she can't.

She shouldn't be feeling this way: so damn confused and twisted with irrational urges — kissing her best friend being one of them. She shouldn't want to tilt her head down and lock eyes because she knows exactly how that will go; lips inches away from each other, noses brushing and pants mixing in the miniscule spaces between their mouths. It's obvious she shouldn't feel that way, because she has Sophie. Sophie Bexler, the love of her life, the soon to be Sophie Bexler-Lopez, her fiancée, right?

She loves Sophie, she's in love with Sophie, undoubtedly; but there's still something lingering in the pit of her stomach, something that moves inside of her whenever she's around Brittany and truthfully, it scares the fuck out of her.

Realizing she hasn't said replied to Brittany's question, she shuffles, moving the slightest bit away from the blonde and clears her throat. "Yeah," she admits, shakily.

She knows the rejected expression on Brittany's face, but she shuts her eyes, blocking herself from it. There's no reason to feel bad, it's not like she's rejecting her girlfriend or anything.

But Brittany's tone makes her feel that way anyway when she asks, "Why?"

It's not like Santana wasn't expecting that question, because Brittany's always been curious. But in all honesty, she knows Brittany is part of the reason she's scared, whether that be because of their friendship growing apart or… No. She doesn't want to think of another option.

"I guess it's because I'm twenty four, and getting married to a woman I've known for just over a year and I don't know," she shrugs. "It's like I'm growing up so fast." She pauses. "It's kind of scary."

Brittany leans up, propping herself on one elbow and looking down at Santana again, "San, you've always followed your heart, and look where it's got you." She smiles. "You're happy and you have no need to worry. It's not like you to jump into things, so I'm sure you're going to be fine." She brushes her finger knuckles across Santana's cheekbone gently. "Just trust yourself."

Santana shakes her head, then smiles weakly. "I guess so, Britt."

"See," Brittany grins and tangles their fingers together. "You'll be fine."

She waits a second, looks deep into Brittany's eyes and see's something just so blue about them. Usually, her normal reaction would be to look away, before she gets dragged into a stare she can't pull herself from, but this one is warm, soft and welcoming. Brittany's body is warm, and Santana feels like she's humming as the blonde leans in, and pecks the tip of her nose once more. Brittany pulls away with a grin and Santana chuckles, curling her hand around the other girl's waist and pulling their bodies closer together by the small of her best friends back. Brittany giggles along and squirms under Santana's moving hands; she's always been ticklish, and the small of her back was a definite tickle zone.

Santana leans up, kissing Brittany's nose in return and then they return to laughing together again. If anyone was watching them right now, they'd look like complete fools just giggling away and chuckling together. But it's the way they've always been, and Santana loves it.

Hands on her cheeks removes the daze she's in, and she grins up at the girl above her. Brittany leans down again, and brushes her lips against Santana's cheekbone, trailing the defined line where the skin tightens around the bone underneath. Once again, Santana returns it, and they both start giggling. Again.

It's like a cycle, and they're playing around like they always used to. 'Two foolish kids' is what her mother used to call them—Well, whenever her mom was around.

But then the gear switches, and as something flashes behind Brittany's blue eyes. She feels the blonde move across her face, pecking her nose again and then to her other cheek where her lips linger a little longer than normal. Every kiss is like a shot of adrenaline, and she feels her breathing become heavier and shorter, and soon enough she's basically panting with a racing heart. Fuck, what's happening to her?

And then it happens.

The gaze she's been trying so hard to avoid. The intense, routed one that's locking every one of her bones and muscles. Brittany's looking down at her with such love, and adoration that she finds herself questioning everything between them. It's not like she's ever denied how sweet, kind, good, caring, beautiful, wonderful… Whoa, she's getting a bit carried away there. But damn, what isn't Brittany?

But anyway, it's not like she's ever denied those things, but she's never really thought about them intently. Now, though, it's a different story. She's looking into sparkling crystal blue eyes that are shining with so much emotion that it almost hurts to continue looking into them, but she can't tear herself away. She takes a deep breath, in any attempt to clear her heart and slow down her racing heart but it fails. And when Brittany takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly, it's like Santana's mind gives out, and body takes over.

She leans in just a couple of inches, swallowing harshly against her thickened throat and chances herself, glancing into Brittany's slightly widened eyes as if she's asking silent permission. The blonde licks her lips, well Santana thinks she can feel that as the air dampens in front of her lips, and her eyes flutter shut whilst copious amounts of tingles and sparks shoot around her body. It's a silent yes from Brittany and she doesn't need the words to know exactly how the blonde feels because they've spent seventeen years of their life learning about each other, like which body movement means what, what facial expressions they pull, and what words are secretly spoken behind disguised sentences.

The air becomes more intense, and a wave of calm crashes down upon her as she inhales deeply and closes the final distance. The minute her lips touch Brittany's, she realizes that there's a line that's just been crossed that definitely shouldn't have been crossed. Not whilst Brittany's her best friend, and sure as hell not while she's getting married tomorrow.

But as their lips part, after the very brief kiss, her mind draws a complete blank and everything disappears. Her lips curl up at the side into a small and half-relieved smile and she cracks her eyes open the slightest to look up at Brittany who looks like she's still processing what the hell just happened. But surely she should be doing the same?

"Santana…" Brittany breathes, shakily, fluttering her eyes open.

However Santana feels the smile grow and she doesn't give Brittany time to continue, because she's leaning back in, pushing the blonde back and propping herself up on her elbow as the other hand slides across Brittany's taut stomach, curling around her waist until she's shifting so she's half on top of her, bringing their mouths back together. There's a moan threatening to escape her lips as Brittany parts hers slightly, and Santana tries to fight it but there's no point. This kiss seems to be rendering her completely powerless and she's falling into a mindless body which is pretty much confirmed as soon as she feels Brittany start to kiss back.

She almost faints at that moment, and when a wave of sweet, heavenly breath sweeps into her mouth as Brittany sighs out, Santana wonders why the hell she's never done this before.

Brittany shifts, switching the kiss and sucks in Santana's bottom lip, massaging them gently. Santana lets her moan, her hand gripping that little bit tighter and strong, pale hands make their way into her hair, tangling their and tightening at the roots so the kiss prolongs. Their mouths move together like they've been doing this together, and when something warm and wet flicks at her lip, Santana feels everything around her disappear. She opens her mouth to it, lets Brittany's tongue slide into her mouth and when her own tongue strokes against it, she's pretty sure her heart damn near jumps out her chest. Brittany moans loudly as the kiss deepens further, and Santana pushes all her weight onto her elbow and moves over until she's settled between strong thighs, fitting against Brittany's body.

A hand slide slides out her hair, drifts down her side and she all about dies when it slips beneath her top, settling on the smooth skin covering her ribs. It's warm, and she moans as all sense of doubt leaves her because Brittany smiles into the kiss, pulling her tongue back. They kiss slowly and softly for a while, and when they both break for a quick breath of air, Santana dives straight back in, pushing her tongue through Brittany's lips and flicking it against the roof of Brittany's mouth. She expects an immediate battle of dominance, because that's what she's become accustomed to with Sophie, but Brittany takes her time, flicking back and stroking her tongue softly over Santana's.

And it's like nothing Santana's ever known before.

She's kissed a lot of people—guys and girls—but nothing comes near to this. Not even Sophie, and Santana knows that should be bad but right now, she just couldn't care. There's something that's sparked between them, between their lips and maybe it's the way they're moving, maybe it's the way Brittany's hand is sliding over her skin, or maybe it's the way she's letting her own hand drift down Brittany's left side, pushing beneath her top and skimming up soft, pale skin until her fingers come in touch with skin softer than the rest. Maybe it's the spark of kissing someone for the first time, but whatever it is, it completely separates it from every other kiss she's ever had before.

And she's scared. She's really fucking scared because this feels so good and she doesn't want to stop. It's so wrong in so many ways, but so right in many others, and that's causing the consequences of kissing Brittany to push to the back of her mind because the only thing she's doing right now is feeling this. Feeling Brittany, feeling the way Brittany's kissing her slowly, drawing out the emotion between them and feeling the way their bodies are slowly moving and how incredible this experience is.

Her entire body is tingling in all the right places—some of the places she's never felt tingle before—and all she wants to do is pull Brittany closer to her until they're one and stay here for as long as possible.

The hand on her ribs shifts, and Santana smiles as she shifts her weight, keeping their lips together as her own hand comes out from beneath Brittany's top, sliding up the bed covers until she meets Brittany's hand. The lips on hers curve up, and she kisses her harder as their fingers slide against each other, tangling together; but even then she doesn't stop kissing her, just pushes Brittany's hand onto the pillow beside the blonde hair scattered across it.

The warmth of Brittany's mouth is so inviting, so welcome, and it shouldn't make Santana groan as loud as she does but it does it anyway. She breaks the kiss quickly to take a breath, licking her lips but she doesn't even have time to lean back down because Brittany's following her, dipping her tongue back into Santana's mouth and kissing her until Santana has to break again, head dizzy from the the way Brittany's tongue moves.

And Santana can't quite believe that she's gone so long without this. That she's gone so long without knowing what it was like to know the taste of Brittany's tongue in her mouth. She finds it almost hard to believe because now she has, she doesn't want to go without it.

Apparently, her body has the same idea because it seems somewhere along the line, their hips, bodies, have been rocking back and forth as they kiss because Brittany's laughing through her nose, the sound muffled against Santana's lips and she can feel the smirk there too, as well as the scorch still flushing across every inch of her skin.

It even gets to the point where they're both smiling so much they're forced to break the kiss, and Santana has an overwhelming urge to push her lips against Brittany's neck, dusting it with hot, opened mouthed kisses, licking and nipping it gently, showing it the damn attention it deserves, when she opens her eyes. And that's the breaking point because she looks down at Brittany, and slowly, they both realize what they were doing and two pairs of eyes widen impossibly so, and two pairs of swollen lips pop open into an 'o' shape.

Because it's at that moment that Santana realizes she's getting married tomorrow.

It's at that moment that Santana realizes that she just made out with her best friend, whom she's decidedly not getting married to tomorrow.

And it's at that moment that she realizes she has a loving fiancée at home, ready and excited to walk down the aisle to her, give herself to her eternally and irrevocably, and Santana just betrayed the vows she hasn't even spoken yet.

Fuck.

What the hell did she just do?

And what the hell does this mean for tomorrow?


	6. Chapter Six

The day of the wedding – December 18th.

Santana's standing in front of the mirror in the back room of The Foundry in Queens, staring at the reflection looking back at her.

There's something so different about her appearance, and it's not because she's in a short, white, lacy wedding dress that in about—oh, ten minutes—she's supposed to be wearing as she declares her eternal devotion to her fiancée, the person she believed until last night, was the love of her life.

It's because her dark chocolate eyes aren't shining as bright as they usually do, there's a duller shade to them. It's because her skin hasn't got its caramel glow that it usually sports, there's a duller shade to that, too. It's because right now there's some fucked up emotional turmoil that's screwing with her mind and it's getting harder and harder for her to keep her lungs functioning properly and her mind straight.

Because right now, she's having fucking doubts.

Right before her damn wedding, she's having fucking doubts.

It's some lame cliché that she would expect to see in a dumb ass movie, and she's almost at the point of considering looking around the empty room for a director, cameras, or anything like that.

What she does in the next few moments is forever going to affect her. There are a few possibilities of what she could do, all of which lead her down incredibly different, almost to the point of being opposite paths. It's intriguing to imagine these routes actually happening, but she knows she doesn't really have a choice. There aren't any options, and whatever she does is going to hurt someone. Someone incredibly dear to her.

Damn, this is so fucked up.

Her eyes trail up and down the length of her body. Her hair's hanging long and straight down the bare expanse of her back, with a weaved, floral halo hovering lightly on top. There's a small bouquet of white roses in her hands, which she's pretty sure mean purity, innocence or some shit like that, and that only adds to the guilt growing inside of her. Her make-up is mostly natural, a light layer of eye shadow, thick lashes with a thin coat of mascara and barely any foundation because her skin is pretty much flawless anyway, but nothing about what she's feeling is natural.

It's not right to be feeling like this before her wedding. It's not right that she's considering clambering out the small window to her right or that seeing any of her family or friends sounds like a nightmare right now. She should be fucking ecstatic, she should of course have the shaky hands and clammy brow, but she sure as hell shouldn't be wondering if this is the right thing to do or not.

"Santana, ¿estás listo?" (Are you ready?)

It's her mom, speaking through the medieval like door to her left. She didn't want Maria to be here, she knows it's some strange stunt that her mother's throwing so the people attending this wedding think the Lopez family isn't as fucked up as rumors have it, but it is no matter what the woman does.

Santana's father isn't here—he's off in California with Miss-Spread-Her-Legs and their two illegitimate children—but she's got her brother to walk her down the aisle, so she isn't worrying about being a loner. Unfortunately her mother seems to have finally taken a break from bobbing her head up and down in her boss' lap beneath the lap, hoping for a raise, to be here, but Santana couldn't really give a shit if the woman was or not. The capacity to give a fuck ran out a long time ago.

"Yes mother," she breathes. "I'm ready."

With one final breath, and what feels like a thousand ton of bricks on her chest, she mutters to herself that she's alright and walks towards the door. Her mother's standing on the other side in a red dress that a woman of her age really shouldn't be wearing, and long, dark hair, similar to her own, tied up in a side ponytail. Maria grins widely, and claps her hands together enthusiastically before engulfing Santana in a hug.

The contact is foreign and really unwanted. She can't remember the last time her mother hugged her—actually, no, scratch that, she can't remember the last time she hugged her mother, full stop. Santana's childhood mostly consisted of insults from her brother, barely any contact with her mother and even less with her father. The only relationships she ever established as a kid were with her grandparents—who, God rest their souls, can't be here—and of course, Brittany.

She makes her way through the various hallways until she's standing at the back of the church, grasping her bouquet like it's a life support and trying to create a regular breathing pattern. It's quiet, apart from the rambling of her mother probably talking to the next lucky winner of a one way ticked to STD central lingering between her thighs, and the two large, wooden doors in front of her seem like the Eiffel tower right now.

In the room through the daunting doors, she knows there's a large amount of her family and friends, and of Sophie's family and friends, waiting for her to make an entrance. The plan is for her to go in first, and then Sophie to join shortly afterward where they stand at the altar with the priest. No bridesmaids, just them. It's what Sophie ordered since apparently it's a symbol of their independent, rare love that shows they're only going to need each other to live their lives happily. Santana had pointed out that technically, the priest would be involved but Sophie had waved the comment off and got back to her texting on her stupid Blackberry.

"Hermana menor…" (Little sister) A deep, gruff voice speaks from beside her. "You're sweating bricks."

Her head snaps to the side and she sees Antonio, her brother walking towards her, hands in pockets and grin spread across his tanned face. It still amazes her to see how different he looks, to see what Hollywood's done to him. He's now a regular in a highly rated sit-com over there, and if she'd actually taken time out to take an interest in his life, maybe the shock of his radically changed appearance and presence in general, wouldn't have surprised her. In some ways, he actually resembles Jesse Metcalfe—the guy from John Tucker Must Die—with his God-like face, brilliantly white teeth that contrast perfectly with his tanned skin and a muscular figure that most girls would probably drool over.

Antonio sorted out the surprise visit the day he got the wedding invitation, and as Santana rushed into the Chapel about four or five hours ago in a very manic, disarrayed manner, there he was, leisurely lying on the chaise long in her dressing room, smirking and opening his arms wide for a hug. Admittedly, a few tears had been shed as she half-threw herself into his awaiting limbs, but overall she was pretty much ecstatic because of his arrival.

"Santana," Antonio looks at her seriously. "What's wrong?"

Santana deliberates whether or not to tell her brother everything. The doubts, her escape route, the reason she's feeling like this.

But she doesn't.

"Nothing, Tony," she forces the lie. "I'm good."

Her brother eyes her skeptically for a few seconds, training his eyes on her facial movements, as if he was specialized in body language or something. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Antonio gives her one more quizzical look before offering out his arm and smiling. "Then let's go get you married, hermana menor."

Her heart drops as soon as she hears the word married. They both step up to the door, Santana hooking her arm through her brothers and staring at the wooden panes in front of her, taking in deep breaths. It's not like she'd never heard of pre-wedding jitters, but really there were no words that could possibly describe the feeling. Sparks shooting through her body, and not the good sparks, the fuck-I'm-gonna-die sparks, feeling like she's about to crap out her stomach, a throat drier than the damn Sahara desert and a pair of knees that feel like they're about to give out any second.

As soon as the doors open, everyone's already on their feet, and staring at her intently. She knew it was going to happen, because damn, that what they're here for. Watching her get married, her being one of the centers of attention and all that crap. But seriously? It's not like she's not nervous enough, without two hundred pairs of eyes on her.

Antonio curls his arm upwards, and pats the back of her hand with his own. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Santana furrows her brow and turns to look at him. "What? Of course."

"If there's a time to bail, Tana, ahora es." (It's now)

There's a certain look in his eyes that scares Santana, because apart from Brittany, her brother was one of the people that could see through her walls. He was always the best out of the Lopez family on calling her on her bullshit, telling their mom when she was lying and so on. Damn, that's why she was grounded in the summer of 2009 for sneaking out a downing a bottle of vodka with Brittany, and returning home to throw up because Antonio read through her lie, and told Mari different — hence the grounding.

"If you don't el amor de su (love her), back out now."

It's scary how well he knows her. Even after all this time. "I do love her, Tony. It's just…"

"Complicated?" He purses his lips with a knowing expression.

For a second, the thought runs through her head to yell at him, but then again, he'll probably read through that, too. So instead, she settles for a nod and, "Si, hermano (brother). Complicated. But I love her and I want to get married to her."

Antonio turns away and stares at the door. The music starts playing from inside, and in lieu of an answer, he taps her hand again. Panic shoots through Santana and she swallows against a thickened throat. There should be a damn pill or something called Calm Yo' Wedding Nerves to keep the nerves down, because damn, her chest is about to burst through her chest. Her toes are wiggling nervously inside of her cream heels, and she licks her lips. Everything seems to slow down as Antonio takes the first step to the beat.

Up at the front of the chapel, there's a priest, who Santana's pretty sure is called Phil or Bill, something along those lines. He's standing there with the cheesiest grin on his face, and a bible clasped in his hands. She can feel everyone sigh as she continues to glide down the aisle, she can hear the 'so beautiful's' and 'oh my God's' and she has to admit, it feels pretty damn good. So good that she's actually smiling; but more than anything, more than she can hear those words, or feel everyone staring, Santana can feel one specific pair of eyes boring into the side of her skull.

It's more potent now than ever before. It's like Brittany's slowing down her movements because her feet decide to lose their fluid step. Antonio catches this, because he slows down to match her and she has to push down the urge to hug him and thank the hell out of him. He smiles with Santana, nodding his head at various people in the crowd but Santana barely aware of it as she focuses everything she has on keeping her feet moving. It'd be pretty fucking embarrassing if she fell over, and face palmed the red carpet beneath her; but then again, guess it would be an excuse to prolong the—

No.

She won't do that; she can't think of reasons to get out of this.

She loves Sophie, she wants to marry Sophie.

Last night, the whole kissing Brittany thing was obviously a mistake. She knew it as soon as they pulled away and as soon as she stared down at frightened blue eyes looking up at her with an apologetic expression accompanying it. She knew it as soon as she rolled off and told Brittany she'd be sleeping on the sofa. She knew it as soon as she left the room, threw herself onto the sofa and sobbed herself to sleep.

Well, she likes to think she knows it was wrong because of those things, but in all honesty, she doesn't.

And now the priest is getting closer and closer, and every damn step seems to be another nail in the coffin. Her breaths are getting shallower, contorting into small pants, and she's pretty sure that if she doesn't quicken her step, she's either going to fall over, pass out or die from thirst.

But the music continues to play, and she clenches her jaw as her eyes stay trained on her destination, desperately trying to avoid looking at Brittany because one look, will probably cause all the confidence to crumble, and she'll have an emotional breakdown. That would be one to tell the kids. Santana doesn't even need to meet the gaze boring into her to know where it's coming from; to the front left, sitting next to her mother, is Brittany. She's pretty sure Rachel's there too, but she's too focused to even try and decipher if it is or not.

By the time she gets to the second pew, the one directly behind Brittany, she loses control. For some unknown reason, gravity tugs her eyes and suddenly she's staring directly into dark, blue eyes. The seconds tick by, excruciatingly slowly, and all she can see is the internal pleading shading behind the cerulean orbs. It's almost as if everything's fading away, and it's just them there, in the chapel, alone.

But she can't handle staring at them. They'll make her change her mind. They'll make her do a 180 and sprint as fast as her feet can take her out the door, so she tear vision away.

Her eyes land on the priest, and she hears a few hushed words coming from the place she just looked away from. It's hard to hear, but she knows Rachel's saying something to Brittany and unintentionally, her ears perk up and she finds herself craning her head to try and listen in. But it's useless. She's too far away now. She's at the altar.

Shit. She's at the altar.

Brown eyes widen, and they snap towards her brother who's giving her the 'leave now' vibe, but she's nothing if not stubborn and she loves Sophie. Why shouldn't she marry the person she promised to marry? Why shouldn't she marry the woman she's in love with? Because she is. She is in love with Sophie and she is going to go through with this.

"Nunca es demasiado tarde." (It's never too late) Antonio whispers as he leans in and kisses her on the cheek.

Santana's brow quiver, and then she straightens it out and puts on a smile as her brother walks away. She can't have all these people watching her expression, and murmuring if she's about to be the Julia Roberts of the Runaway Bride. She can't have that. She won't have that; it's not fair to her, to Sophie.

The priest coughs from behind her, and she turns to him and shoots him a quick smile as the music starts playing again. When the hell did the music stop playing?

As her body twists so it's facing down the aisle, towards the doors she came from, she sees Brittany nudge Rachel and say sshslightly louder than necessary. A small smile tugs at her lips, and she briefly locks gazes with Brittany, but just as soon as they share the quick connection, the back doors swing open and Sophie's there.

Sophie. Her fiancée. The woman she's about to marry, standing at the back, clutching a similar bouquet of white roses and wearing a smile so bright the sun seems dark right now. She musters a fake smile, because her eyes flicker to Brittany who refuses to turn around, unlike the rest of the congregation. The whole time the music plays, and Sophie glides in time with the beat down the aisle, the blue eyes continue to stare at her.

She inhales deeply, her eyes scanning over the long white dress her fiancée is sporting. It dips low in the cleavage, not leaving a lot of room for imagination, which she thinks is pretty trashy, but hey, it's not her dress. It's large at the shoulders, and tight at the waist. And to be pretty honest, it's got Sophie written all over it.

The deep breath she inhales—and hopes to calm her emotions—doesn't do its job. Almost as soon as her line of sight flickers momentarily towards Brittany, Sophie's standing next to her, grinning widely and looking pretty damn gorgeous with a light layer of make-up. Her green eyes are sparkling, and her hair is in a tight bun on top of her head with a few strands to frame her high cheekbones and enhance her pale skin.

Santana holds out her hand, and Sophie takes it as they lace their fingers together. She is happy. She's getting married for fuck sake. She has to be happy.

But there's a nagging feeling at the back of her mind, telling her she's not, and it's basically fucking winning. She can basically feel the begging coming from Brittany, the silent pleads not to do this.

And she doesn't know why, but she spares a quick glance over at the blonde, who to her surprise, is smiling widely at her and nodding along. It completely takes her off guard, and she wonders whether or not she's imagined the pleading blue eyes and begging looks she'd just been receiving as Sophie walked up the aisle. What the hell is going on?

"You may sit. We are all gathered together on this beautiful afternoon to share with Santana and Sophie as they exchange vows of their everlasting love."

Santana rolls her eyes as the priest speaks, and because it's who she is, the thousands of statistics she'd read, over half of all marriages ending up in divorces, speeds through her mind. It's stupid for her to be thinking of divorce now, because she hasn't even got fucking married yet, and it's ridiculous for the word to even be going through her mind, because her and Sophie were made to last. They've had a connection since they met, and it has stayed strong ever since. True to her word, Sophie isn't like all the rest, she isn't like any girl Santana's ever dated. That's one of the first things she said to Brittany about Sophie, and it's true, even now.

But she still shouldn't be thinking of those damn statistics.

"Sophie, will you take Santana to be your wife, your partner in life and your one true love? Will you cherish her friendship and love her today, tomorrow and forever? Will you trust and honor her, laugh and cry with her? Will you be faithful through good times and bag? In sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"

The current situation snaps back to Santana, and she barely hears the "I do" that escapes Sophie's lips as she stares into the green eyes of the woman facing her. Before she knows it, the priest has repeated the words, only this time from her perspective.

"…In sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"

Something happens in those few seconds, like the world slows down, the clocks tick that tiny bit slower and everything goes into slow motion. It's like one of those sci-fi movies, when someone clicks a watch, or a remote in Adam Sandler's case, and everything pauses.

The breath catches in her throat, and she drops Sophie's hands, whose stay remained in mid-air, along with her frozen body. The whole congregation is staring up at the two with smiling eyes, and large grins and Santana looks around, seeing the priest's lips parted as he gazes at Santana expectantly. She glances around the faces, seeing each of them frozen in time, and it's hard for her not to poke one of them or at least draw on one of their faces with a Sharpie or something.

Finally, as she glances around the crowd, her eyes land on Brittany. Brittany, who's sitting with hands clasped neatly in front of her, legs crossed and staring up at the space where Santana was previously occupying. Everything about Brittany is so beautiful, and she steps down to her, reaches out with one hand, completely forgetting about the bouquet in the other and ghosts her hand over Brittany's cheekbone. There's a distinct darkness shading behind Brittany's eyes, and Santana's never seen it as intense as this before. Sure, she's seen it, because well, she's seen every expression Brittany's ever held—seventeen years of best-friendship does that to two people—but this one… This expression is one that she's only ever seen once and that was last night, just after they broke from the kiss.

With that thought, her mind flashes back to the previous night's events, and she closes her eyes as her brain swims in the memory.

The warning bells started making a riot in her head as she stared down at the girl beneath her. It was so wrong. She couldn't do it. She wanted to—Fuck, she really wanted to—but it's wrong. It may feel so good, and even though she was pretty sure kissing Brittany, or just Brittany, had been the missing puzzle piece in her life, it's wrong, and that's the bottom line.

For fuck sake. Why couldn't they have discovered this earlier? They have the worst fucking time in the world and they couldn't continue because of Sophie.

Shit. Sophie.

Brittany shifted beneath her, and Santana reacted quickly, rolling off her and throwing her legs over the edge as she pressed her forehead hard against the palm of her hands.

Damn it.

What the hell was she thinking? Kissing her best friend? Kissing Brittany, when she's getting fucking married tomorrow? What the hell is wrong with her?

She spared a glance over at her best friend who was leaning up against the headboard, knees tucked to her chest and forehead rolling on her kneecaps, and she was just radiating frustration, guilt and so much sadness that Santana had to tear her eyes away.

A bomb of silence had hit them, and Santana bit her lip which ultimately didn't help because she could still taste Brittany on them; and despite the guilt pouring through her, a shot of arousal bottomed out in the pit of her stomach. She curled her fists against her boxers at the thought. This is ridiculous. What the hell just happened between them?

After a few long minutes of silence, Santana stood abruptly and turned to face Brittany. It was quiet and awkward, and she didn't know what she was supposed to say. Was she supposed to apologize? Make a joke of it with a 'oops' and then laugh it off with her?

Crap. She doesn't know. But she know she shouldn't have just made out with her.

"I—I..." she stuttered, fiddling with the hem of her tank top and trying to pull it over to the bulge showing through her boxers. "I'm gonna sleep on the couch," she finally settled on.

Her eyes found Brittany as her best friend glanced up, and Brittany was in the same position, but was chewing her lip then, too, staring at Santana with terrified, blue eyes.

"Sa—"

"Don't," Santana cut in.

Brittany shrunk back, her eyebrows pushing together but she didn't say anything more as the eye contact broke.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch," Santana repeated, trying not to focus on how much she was showing, even with the coverage of the tank top over her lap.

Without another word, she got up from the bed and slipped out the door, shutting it louder than necessary and running her hands through her hair as she made her way toward the couch. Her mind was buzzing, going crazy with thoughts of calling up Sophie and telling her she couldn't do that, but she wasn't going to. She couldn't. Not because of what just happened. Her lips were tingling, there was a definite bulge in her boxersand her stomach was flipping—and not in the same way it did with Sophie—but that didn't count. She couldn't let herself think about how deep the feeling buzzing through her body was, and how it felt like how she did when Brittany was explaining to her what making love was because they weren't about to do that.

They weren't about to make love.

They just weren't.

Were they?

"Fuck."

The tears began to flow without another thought, continuous and uncontrollable.

So she just turned, burying her face deep into the pillow and reached over the side of the couch to tug the blanket out from underneath, covering herself with it as she cried and cried.

And somewhere along the line, along the tears, the sleep dragged her down and under.

Santana woke just after seven in the morning.

She didn't even bother grabbing her clothes from Brittany's bedroom as she threw on her coat and left Brittany's apartment without a note, a text, or anything.

Because she didn't know what to say.

"Santana?" The priest urges nervously as she comes from her thoughts. "Will you be faithful through good times and bad, in sickness and in health as long as you both shall live?"

Shit. Was she silent the entire time?

How long was she out? Did Brittany notice?

She always gets this cloudy thing over her dark brown eyes apparently, and Brittany always noticed it so maybe even though she isn't next to her, maybe she saw it from her pew.

Fuck.

Does she know what Santana was thinking about?

Does everyone know what Santana was thinking about?

Her eyes flicker around the chapel in her peripheral vision, and judging by their wide eyes, fidgeting hands and shifting bodies, it's been a longer time to respond than it should've been. In front of her, Sophie's eyes are silently urging her to answer, there's answer behind them too, and Santana feels herself breathing harder and faster.

What is she doing? Why is she hesitating? She loves Sophie.

Last night with Brittany was just a mistake. That's just a fact.

Taking in a deep breath, she twists back to the priest and nods. "I do," she says, firmly. "I will."

Sophie's body deflates as she exhales in relief. It's still slightly worrying that Santana doesn't know how long she was out, but it's even more worrying that her first thought when she came out of her thoughts were about Brittany. That isn't a sign, is it?

"I now pronounce you wife and wife," the priest announces, proudly. "You may now kiss your bride."

Santana smiles and inhales quickly, before leaning in and pressing a lingering but innocent kiss to Sophie's lips. Just as quickly as their lips touch, Santana pulls back and tries not focus on the way her neck is trying to twist towards her right to where Brittany's sitting. She's mildly aware of Sophie picking up her hand and slipping on the ring, but her mind is elsewhere as she does the same. Elsewhere being blonde, blue eyed and the best kisser she knows.

Shit. No. She needs to stop thinking about that.

"And now, if the congregation would please stand," the priest announces, half-scaring the crap out of Santana. "I present to you, Sophie and Santana Bexler-Lopez."

A round of applause echoes around the room, and Santana grins as she laces her fingers through her wife's. Camera flashes bombard them and she brings her free hand up to shield her eyes mockingly as a suited man bends down in front of them with a professional looking camera and snaps a few shots. Her heart begins to flutter as she gauges all her family's reaction, seeing the sparkle in each one of their eyes.

The way her mom's grinning widely and keeping the act on, the half-sympathetic, half-judgmental expression on her brother's face, and the proud, happy faces of the few cousins behind her mom and brother.

Santana turns to Sophie, and steps down to the congregation level, before looking up and helping Sophie down the single step. Her legs proceed her away from the alter, and she grins at all her family and friends—and her newly occupied Bexler ones too—and they proceed down the aisle slowly, dodging the confetti thrown their way.

But not before she catches the expression on her best friend's face. The dark, sad blue eyes that aren't shining as brightly as they usually do, they're covered with some weird sort of dull shade to them. One she recognizes immediately, mostly because she was staring straight at it less than an hour ago. The quivering bottom lip that she'd be able to spot from miles away, the one that tells Santana that Brittany's about to cry, or withholding tears. It's too much for her to look at, and grudgingly, she squeezes her eyes shut, forces herself to turn her neck and puts back up the large grin as she continues down the aisle, with Sophie.

With her wife.

"…And ever since that day, on the jungle gym in the park, I knew Santana would grow up to marry someone beautiful," Antonio raises his glass. "To the bride and bride. Good work hermana menor."

Everyone claps again as Antonio finishes his speech. Santana's at the head table with Sophie to her left, her brother to her right, mother the other side and then Sophie's mom and dad the other side of her. The congregation are now seated in various circular tables with bright white tablecloths and white rose center pieces—seriously what is with the white roses?— and it only took about ten minutes to get from the altar to the reception room, seeing as they're in the same building and all, but it took a little longer to greet everyone and get them seated.

Somehow, Brittany has evaded Santana, and as she glances around the room, Brittany's sitting at one of the front tables, nearest the hardwood dance floor in front of the head table. For the past twenty minutes, or however long they've been in here, she's made sure not to look towards Brittany, and instead remained focused on Sophie who's threading their fingers together underneath the table.

"And now, it's time for the newlyweds first dance."

Santana snaps her head up, and looks at Sophie's father—or her father-in-law, damn that's scary—Paul who's mumbling into the microphone. Sophie's staring at her intently from her side, and she meets her eyes and grins as her thumb rubs over the back of her wife's pale hands.

"Santana and Sophie, would you like to make your way to the dance floor?" Paul grins and hikes up his trousers before sitting back down again.

She climbs to her feet, smoothing down the back of her dress as she pulls Sophie up with her and leads their way down to the shiny floor. Her hand twists, and she spins Sophie around before settling one hand on her wife's hip and the other grasping Sophie's hand by her collarbone. Her heart flutters as a familiar pair of eyes burns into the back of her skull, imprinting themselves. It's stupid, she shouldn't be feeling like this. She shouldn't want to hand Sophie over to someone else, and whisk Brittany to her feet. That's not how it should go.

Up until now, she can't actually remember the damn song they'd chosen to have their first dance as a married couple too. But then again, that's probably because she had fuck all to do with the organization of the wedding; but so far so good, so nothing for Santana to complain about. Not that she would of course.

"I will always love you," Sophie whispers as the soft tone of Whitney Houston's voice echoes through the room.

Santana's eyes widen as she realizes what song it is, and the urge to roll her eyes is right there on the fore front of her mind. Of all the damn songs Sophie could've chosen, she had to choose the cheesiest of all possible wedding songs, bar I Got You Babe by Sonny and Cher.

"I will always love you?" Santana questions skeptically as she pulls back. "You chose I will always love you, by Whitney Houston, as our wedding song?"

Sophie's face drops. "Yes. It's a classic love song."

Santana can see the argument brimming, and hell, she really doesn't want to argue in front of all these people. So instead she hums in agreement and says, "I love it."

Green eyes light up. "I love you."

"Ditto."

As the song proceeds, the DJ calls on the couples, and soon enough, Santana and Sophie are dancing around the crowded bodies. Antonio is dancing next to her with some chick from Sophie's side of the family, that's going to be funny to explain that they're practically related, her mom is talking animatedly with Sophie's mom over in the far corner, and then Brittany is—

"Brittany," Santana whispers to herself as she finds her best sitting alone on one of the tables, eying up several of the dancing couples.

It completely passes Santana's attention that Rachel's left Brittany alone, or the fact she's making out with one of Santana's second cousins who doesn't even talk English, because all she can see is the sadness on Brittany's face.

"What?"

Santana shakes her head and looks to her wife who's raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"You said Brittany."

They spin and shuffle on their feet in time to the music. "She's over there on her own."

Sophie cranes her neck, looking over Santana's shoulder before settling back to her feet and pulling away with a dissatisfied expression. "She should've brought a date then."

The sharpness in Sophie's voice is enough to make Santana want to snap; but it's her wedding day, it's their wedding day and Christ, they don't need to argue less than three hours after saying I do. Their marriage would probably be shorter wedding than Kim Kardashian's if they argued every time they could, and damn, that's just be embarrassing.

The last note of the song rings out, and everyone pulls away to clap quietly. Santana has no idea why they're clapping, but decides to join in anyway as her eye lock onto Brittany who's doing the same clap as before — the sad, forced one with a similar smile. Sophie's grinning at her, and Santana steps around her wife before heading towards Brittany.

She can't leave her best friend on her own, even if it's awkward. She isn't Rachel.

"Where are you going?"

Santana pauses and turns, seeing Sophie with her hip cocked and arms crossed. "To ask Brittany to dance."

"Why?"

Her eyes flicker between the blonde, who's still oblivious to this little tiff and back to her wife. "Because she's on her own."

"I will be too if you go to her."

Just at that moment—thank God—Antonio sweeps in and offers out his hand to Sophie. "May I have this dance, hermoso?" (Beautiful)

Relief flashes through Santana, which probably isn't a good thing and she watches as her wife inwardly debates what to do.

"As long as you don't mind, hermana menor?" Antonio says to Santana with a knowing glint to his dark brown eyes. It kind of freaks Santana out, because even she has no idea why she's leaving her wife to go and dance with her best friend, but there's something in her brother's smile that's telling her he knows; even when she doesn't.

"No," Santana smile. "Está bien. (It's fine) I'll be back soon, Sophie."

Sophie narrows her eyes, hesitating for a few seconds before she reluctantly takes Antonio's hand and is whisked away. Antonio throws Santana a quick wink before disappearing into the crowd with her wife, and she turns her eyes to the ground. The song is now about half-way through, since Sophie ruined the other half, and she turns to find Brittany sipping on a champagne flute, resting her chin in her hand and scanning the area.

It's not until now that she takes note of what Brittany's wearing. A low neck, purple strapless dress is covering Brittany's flawless body, and her legs are visible because of the short length. It's not short enough to be slutty, but it's not too long that it doesn't show enough of her toned, sculpted legs. Her has is in loose curls over her shoulder, with her bangs swept to the side and just… Well, to put it short, she looks beautiful.

"May I have this dance?" Santana says, offering out her hand.

Brittany's head whips up, and blue eyes flicker between the extended hand and brown eyes. For a second, Santana almost thinks that Brittany's about to run off, but then something softens behind the blue eyes and a sincere smile graces perfect lips. Brittany gently rests her palm into Santana's as she pushes up from the table with her other hand, in lieu of an answer, and then they move away from the seat.

Santana grins softly, and keeps her eyes trained on her best friend as she slowly steps back towards the floor. Everyone parts, kind of like the Moses and the Red Sea, and soon enough, they're standing in the middle of the dance floor with dull lights moving in slow, concentric circles to highlight some of the dancing bodies surrounding them. Santana doesn't know how long the reception's been going on, but apparently long enough for the sun to go down and a purple and orange shade to color the sky.

She releases Brittany's hand and shuffles forward, until their bodies are only inches apart. Her hands snake around her best friend's body, memorizing the curves and she lands on the small of Brittany's back. Pale arms slide around her neck, pulling the upper halves closer as they start to sway to the music, with no attempt to initiate any further movement.

It does come to Santana's attention that they're probably closer than they should be, but something cracks in the back of her mind and she finds a lack of fucks to give. She doesn't both getting paranoid because of the stares they're most likely getting, and instead she focuses on Brittany. Her eyes stare deeply into Brittany's and she can see the memories of last night flashing behind beautiful blue, and she can't not see the lingering darkness behind them because she's always been able to see Brittany's emotions in her eyes.

"Hey."

Brittany smiles weakly. "Hey."

Santana steps to the side as a twirling couple breezes by them. A small chuckle escapes her lips, and she hears the same come from her best friend which only causes the volume to increase. She rests her forehead against Brittany's shoulder as they continue to move, just slowing stepping to the beat of one of their favorite songs — Never Think.

"I'm finally having my dance." Brittany jokes lightly, even though her tone doesn't support the joke.

Santana pulls back and looks deep into blue eyes. "You can have as many dances as you want."

Sadness flashes behind Brittany's eyes, and Santana forces herself to look away as she dips her head back down to rest her forehead against a pale shoulder once more. Brittany lets out an audible sigh and then presses a kiss to dark locks before resting her cheek on top of that spot. Their bodies move in a more fluid motion than Santana's did with Sophie, and she likes to put it down to the fact Brittany is an incredible dancer, hence the increased dancing skill, but deep inside, she knows that's not the case.

It's just her and Brittany. They work better when they're together. They always have.

"Stop thinking so much," Brittany whispers into Santana's hair. "You should be happy. It's your w—wedding day," she gets out.

Santana pulls back to examine her best friends face, frowning at the stutter. "Who says I'm not happy?"

A pale hand reaches up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then lingers across her temple to the crease in her brow. "This," Brittany answers, pressing a little harder as the crease dips between her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "This says you're not."

Santana clenches her jaw against the rush of emotion through her. It's not fair that Brittany knows her so well. "I'm good."

Brittany hums and then leans down to mimic Santana's previous position, forehead on a tanned shoulder. It's a lie, and Santana knows Brittany isn't even bothering to question her anymore. Since when the hell did their friendship consist of lies?

"Okay, San."

Thirty seconds of silence go by—well verbal silence since their bodies and actions are speaking volumes—and they just continue to move in time with the song. It's a slow one, the lyrics fitting eerily well with their situation, and she can feel Brittany whispering along to the words as her hot breath burns into the skin between the crook of Santana's neck and shoulder. Her heart's beating a mile a minute, and she's pretty sure her palms are sliding off Brittany's dress due to the excess moisture and she doesn't know why it has to be like this. What's happening to their friendship, or relationship, whatever the fuck it is? Why is it so damn complicated now?

"What happened last night?" Santana breathes, tightening her grip to ensure Brittany can't escape the question.

Except Brittany doesn't jerk or jolt in surprise, like Santana expected, and her face twists with confusion as the blonde pulls back slowly and exhales even slower. "I don't know."

There's something so heart-wrenching about seeing Brittany like this. Like she's lost and doesn't' know how to get out. Like she's questioning every aspect of her life, just because they shared a mind-blowing kiss last night.

"…Do you?" Brittany continues, sliding her hands to the back of Santana's neck and gripping lightly underneath her hair.

Santana feels her heartbeat quicken, even though she didn't think that was possible and inhales deeply. The warmth of Brittany's body against her just sends her into a whirlwind of memories, most of them from last night, how their bodies fitted together, how their lips glided over each other like they'd been doing it all along and how it just felt so damn right to be kissing. Her eyes shut, and she immediately sees the re-enactment show on the back of her eyelids.

She wants to say yes, that she knows exactly what happened last night, but she'd be lying. She's spent the majority of her time, since she skipped out of the room after breaking away from the kiss, focusing on what the fuck happened but she hasn't figured out an explanation yet, and since then they've practically been avoiding each other at all costs, which has only created more of a pathetic mess inside of Santana's head.

Their relationship used to be so easy; it used to be like air, like breathing — just so natural. They could go months, or even years without seeing each other, and as soon as they get back together, boom, back to where they left off. It's so dysfunctional now and it's doing nothing but making her life worse.

There used to be a distinct separation between her love life and how it affected her friendships—well, in other words a disconnect between love and Brittany—but now it seems those two areas have overlapped. If anything ever threatened her relationship with Brittany in the past, she'd break it off or ensure that it didn't harm them as friends whatsoever. Brittany was always there as her friend, as her best friend, to support and give the honest advice a best friend should give. There were no complications, no thinking oh my I like her or any of that petty high school shit, it was strictly best friends.

But since Brittany returned, it seems everything's turned upside down.

Santana's relationship with Sophie was going strong, barely any arguments and normal conversations with Brittany, but when her best friend returned, it seemed the arguments formed and escalated, and instead of breaking it off with Sophie because it had obviously affected her and Brittany's relationship, she kept going how she was and now here she is, wedding band on her finger and vows tugging on her heart because she's sure she doesn't mean them.

To put it simply, they'd always managed to save their relationship. If Brittany had a problem with Santana's girlfriend, Santana would break it off. The same went for Santana and disliking any of Brittany's boyfriends or girlfriend, it would end. But a year and a half has obviously done a lot between them. None of Santana's girlfriends ever disliked Brittany, which was like hating ice-cream, or puppies, the idea was just fucking crazy.

But the came along Sophie.

Since the beginning, there's been a tension between Sophie and Brittany, and Santana hadn't thought twice about breaking it off with Sophie because this situation had never occurred. If anything, her girlfriend's would become incredibly good friends with Brittany and they'd go shopping and do all that cliché female bullshit like shoe-shopping.

The relationship between her and Brittany used to be simple, and easy, but the party, where she laid eyes on Brittany after eighteen months of not seeing her, something clicked within her mind. It's like something changed in the atmosphere, like it changed into a face and told Santana that something was coming around to fuck her over. It was never intended, but it just happened, something just changed about Brittany, about Santana and about their relationship, and it was unstoppable.

And instead of allowing the relationship to continue so easily, Santana knows she fucked it up. She made a move on Brittany, she kissed Brittany and she continued the kiss. She's the one that fucked it up, and she's the one that introduced Brittany to Sophie and kept Sophie around even after the clear tension and awkwardness between Sophie and Brittany. She just didn't stick to the way things always went, and now she wonders if she should have.

"No," Santana answers, solemnly. "No, I don't know what happened."

Her mind is inwardly drowning her with thoughts, and right now, her left hand is feeling heavier than ever before. The stupid wedding band is weighing her down, and her insides her spiking and twisting with guilt. It's a horrible feeling because she knows the girl she's holding in her arms is the one girl that's stuck with her through everything, has always been there, and up until last night, was considered to be her best friend; and yet all she's doing in return is confusing the fuck out of Brittany and hurting her.

"If you could—" Santana swallows, feeling the words thicken her throat and restrict her breathing. "If you could take it back," she pauses and breathes in. "Would you?"

Brittany pulls back and searches brown eyes for a few, long moments. There's true clarity inside of brilliant blue, and Santana finds herself mesmerized by the tiny silver specks surrounding the black circle before Brittany speaks and breaks her from her thoughts.

"Would you?"

Santana's not sure if Brittany actually answered, but she doesn't really think about it because the words escaping her lips faster than she can think it. "Never."

The corners of Brittany's lips curve up, and she smiles sadly. "Then you know my answer, too."

They both continue to sway to the music, realizing it's a completely different song from the previous one, and start to move their feet faster to match the beat. It's not a sexual, or erotic dance for that matter, it's just faster than the other one, as well as unrecognizable. Probably one of Sophie's choices no doubt; everything else has been.

"What does that mean, Britt?" Santana asks, warily as she tightens her grip on her best friend's waist.

But then the atmosphere changes, and Brittany stops her movement, which effectively stops Santana's. She glances up and sees a certain hard shade behind Brittany's usually soft eyes, and her hands drop from Brittany's side. It's not aggressive—well, she doesn't recognize it to be anyway—it's just vulnerable and hurt. And her heart falters as she cocks her head to the side, trying to read her best friend, but for once, she finds she can't. It's like there's this wall preventing her, and she can't see anything but the blank expression on Brittany's face.

"It means you're married," Brittany lets out breathlessly, her voice full of regret.

Santana raises an eyebrow and tries to return her grip to Brittany's hips but pale hands stop her. She continues despite the rejection. "Is that it?"

They both can hear the underlying conversation going on, the unspoken words asking if she's doing the right thing or not, and she can feel the silent pleading beaming through her eyes to get Brittany to answer honestly. But Brittany doesn't. Even if both of them know it's a lie.

"That's it," Brittany confirms, loosening her grip on Santana's wrists. "You're married, and that's it."

Santana ducks her head and feels herself welling up. She can't cry on her wedding day, she'll screw up her make-up, and then get asked by copious amounts of people what's wrong and just… Ah. She can't cry. Brittany's words racket through her mind, bouncing back and forth like a tennis ball as she slowly looks up through her dark lashes at her best friend. She doesn't know what the hell is going on between them, or what happened… And she can't because she's married.

But wait, if that's what's stopping Brittany—

"What if it wasn't?" Santana asks, desperation creeping into her town as she takes her bottom lip between her teeth. "What if I wasn't married," she repeats. "What would it mean then?"

The wheels turn inside her best friend's mind, and Santana begins to feel guilty for putting Brittany on the spot like this. In some ways, she wishes with deep longing that she'd never met Sophie, or that maybe Brittany had come back a year before, before everything was so serious between Santana and Sophie. Maybe then she could've sorted out her feelings, or realized them sooner, but no. Does she want that?

Fuck. She doesn't know.

She doesn't know what she wants. She doesn't know who she wants, whether it's Brittany or Sophie, and she doesn't know whether getting married was the best or worst thing that she's ever done.

Hell, just thinking about the question makes her want to run away incredibly fast, leaving a Santana shaped hole in all the walls as she bursts through them.

"But you are married," Brittany counters, looking over Santana's shoulders to something. "And you're happy," she says, voice solid but sad, her blue eyes glistening. "That's it."

Santana looks at her, trying to figure out what that expression is, but before she can identify it, it's gone. Her head cocks to the side and she opens her mouth to say, "Britt—" when another voice cuts in.

"Do you mind if I take my wife back?" Sophie interrupts, rudely sliding between Santana and Brittany and breaking their intense glare.

Santana looks between her best friend and girlfriend. "Actually, Sophie—"

"Of course," Brittany answers, increasing the volume of her voice and smiling too widely as her eyes stay trained on Santana. "She's all yours," she whispers and Santana's heart clenches at the double meaning.

But she keeps a straight face, despite the internal ache and before she can stop her best friend from walking away, Sophie's grabbing her hand and spinning them back into the center of the dance floor that apparently, she and Brittany had unknowingly gravitated off. Hands clutch together, clutch at hips and shoulders, and they begin dancing again, but Santana's eyes are still trained on the retreating figure of her best friend as Brittany slips out the double doors, out onto the patio. Shortly after that, a smaller figure slips out too, and Santana just manages to see the small apologetic smile Rachel shoots her as she goes after Brittany.

It takes everything Santana has not to just push Sophie away and run after her best friend, because she knows Brittany was just about to cry, but she holds it back with all the strength she has.

"What was that?" Sophie asks, looping her arms around Santana's neck.

Santana stares distantly at the double doors for a long moment, before she exhales and shakes her head, letting her eyes drift back to her wife.

"Nothing," she breathes. "Nothing at all."

By midnight, everyone's pretty drunk and neither Brittany nor Rachel have returned to the party.

Santana's been glancing up at the door at any time someone has come through or left the doors, but each time she's been greeted with disappointment instead of the vision of her best friend again.

Which is how she got here, leaning her head on her hands, elbows on the bar top as her head swims, dizzies, from the alcohol lingering in her blood. As soon as the tenth person walked through the door, revealing that Brittany wasn't going to come back, Santana decided that as she paid for half this wedding, and was supplying the majority of the free bar, she was going to make the best of it. So she sat down at her table and ordered a drink from the waiter, and just kept doing tell the guy to bring more over, no longer caring if she went over the amount of money she'd put behind the bar.

(Although her plan is ultimately floored because if she goes over the amount, she's going to have to pay the extra anyway.

But that's not exactly at the forefront of her mind, right now.)

Somewhere behind her, she hears Puck laughing along with her wife as they twirl on the dance floor. He'd turned up late—of course—and handed Santana a card, kissed her on the cheek before whisking off to the free bar to take full advantage of it. Only an hour later, Santana had found him talking to Sophie in the far corner of the room, and it had puzzled her to know how they knew each other so well, but truly, she didn't care enough to investigate.

The chair next to her squeaks as it slides against the floor, but she doesn't have enough energy to turn and see who it is so she just waits for the person to talk. About twenty seconds of silence later, it starts to irritate her that this person isn't talking, no matter who they are, and musters the strength to lift her head up. And when she does, she's met with the intense glare of her brother. Great.

"I'm schorry," she slurs, slapping her hand to her forehead. That's gonna hurt in the morning. "Can I helps you?"

"What are you doing?"

"Drinking," she picks up her vodka twist and chugs it down. She's been drinking so much that she's past the point of feeling the burn on her throat. "Obviouslys."

Antonio slouches over, pressing his forearms into the top of his thighs. "You know what I'm talking about."

She rolls her eyes, and manages to push up from the table to stumble over to the free bar. About two steps in, she catches herself in her own foot and prepares herself to face plant the floor, but Antonio's there to catch her elbow and props her upright.

"I'm getting a drink," Santana answers, taking her steps cautiously as she arrives at the bar. "If yous don't minds."

"Santana," she warns, pushing her onto a stool before leaning onto the bar counter next to her.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "I'm drunk," she gets out, scrunching her face up.

Antonio lets out a chuckle. "What gave that away pisshead?"

Santana tries to scowl at him, but due to the alcohol she knows it probably comes out as just a strange expression. "That's mine praise."

"You mean your phrase?"

She nods hard. "Titswhat I said."

Antonio examines her for a second before bursting out in laughter. "Titswhat? Oh my!"

"I meant," Santana clears her throat and tries to fake soberness. "It's. What."

The bar tender slides over two tumblers full of clear liquid. She assumes it's vodka, and brings her hand out to clutch it, but before her fingers can come in contact with the glass, it's whisked away and she feels her head roll about uncontrollably as she tries to search for the thief. Then again, considering her state she can't really be bothered.

"You need to sober up," Antonio claims, sipping on a dark drink that she thinks is Coke.

Santana slaps him on the arm lightly. "And you needs to gets a proper draaank."

Her brother lets out another throaty chuckle and unbuttons three of his buttons from the neck, revealing a perfectly shaven chest. "It's rum and Coke. It is a proper draaank."

Santana laughs at her brother's impersonation and hears him mutter to the bartender 'water'. Two seconds later, another clear liquid slides over to her and she glugs down the contents, shocked by the lack of vodka taste, but thankful for the existence of water in general.

"Mike Chang was hitting on her earlier, you know."

"What?" She glances over at him, her face screwed up with confusion. Who the hell is Mike Chang? And who the hell was he flirting with?

"Mike Chang, the famous choreographer," Antonio clarifies, sipping on his drink. "He was hitting on her."

Santana still doesn't get it. "Hitting on who?"

Her brother smiles, gives her a quick knowing look. "Brittany."

"Sho?" Santana snaps back, waving at the bartender for another refill. There's piping hot jealous burning through her veins, but she knows as long as she attempts to quell the anger, she'll at least be able to hide it until Antonio leaves. But she doesn't even know why she's jealous; she has no hold over Brittany, she has no rights. Santana just wants her best friend to get what she wants in life. What she deserves.

Antonio purses his lips. "I'm just telling you. She's going to get whipped up by someone soon and if it's not Chang, then it's someone else."

Still, she pays it cool. "I knows and she should definitelys. He would make her happys, and that's what shes wants in life. Why ares you telling me that anyways?"

There's a sadness to his expression as the words escape her mouth, and he chucks down the rest of his drink before patting her on the shoulder and walking past her.

"You know why," he whispers into her ear."

And then she's left by, feeling incredibly drunk and confused by her brother's words.


	7. Chapter Seven

Santana wakes up in the morning with a headache the size of China. Her throat's drier than the Sahara desert, her head's spinning faster than the Tasmanian Devil on speed and she's about two seconds away seeing her stomach contents in the toilet bowl.

A hand finds her back, and she manages to summon the strength to twist her neck so her other cheek is pressing into the pillow, despite her muscles rejecting the movement.

"Hey," Sophie smiles, continuing to rub circular motions on Santana's back. "You're awake."

"Looks like it," Santana groans, sliding her palms up the bed to push herself up. It fails, obviously, and she falls back to the mattress from about seven inches up, face palming the pillow hard. Ouch.

"I just came to tell you something, babe."

Santana moves her hand to finds Sophie's, and twines their fingers together. "You okay?"

Sophie nods. "Yeah—Well, kind of."

"What's up?" Santana asks, suddenly feeling a lot more awake. She takes a second to glance around the room, and realities she's back at home, in her bed. How the hell did she even get back here?

"Work called," Sophie releases Santana's hand and gets up from the bed, revealing that she's dresses in barely-there panties and a one size too small tank top. "I have to go in."

Santana flips onto her back slowly. "When?"

"Now."

Her eyes follow Sophie as her wife—shit, wife—stops at the dresser and changes out her clothes. Santana feels something tingle in the base of her spine and clears her throat. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, apparently BEL 20 went down by like twenty percent. There are some strange figures in the market, and my boss wants me to have a look." Sophie walks over to the window and twists the blind open to give the room some light.

Brown eyes squint against the intruding brightness. "You're a stockbroker. Don't they have like, millions of you that can do that job? It's the day after our wedding, Sophie."

Sophie flips her hair forward and ties it up into a high ponytail. "I'm a discretionary management stockbroker, actually, and there's only like four of us in the building. Everyone else has already left for the holidays, and I'm the only one in town."

There's something tugging in the back of Santana's mind, and she furrows her brows. She reaches over to the side table, grabbing the bottle of water she keeps there, and then delves into the drawers in search of the Advil. Every damn move she makes, whether it be reaching to the side table or getting a kink out her neck, feels like a freaking sledgehammer to her temple. Stupid hangovers.

"And there's no way you can get out of it?"

Sophie shakes her head, and then crawls onto the bed to press a quick kiss to Santana's lips. She melts into the feeling, before Sophie pulls away and she's left with her lower lip jutting out. "No, sorry babe."

"Okay," Santana says, drawing out the word.

Her wife throws her a quick smile before disappearing out the bedroom door. Santana frowns, and then bites on her bottom lip. She barely remembers anything that happened last night after her talk at the bar with her brother. She knows Brittany left, along with Rachel and she knows her brother could possibly be pissed at her, but apart from that, she can't remember a damn thing. Not even the—

"Oh, shit," Santana finishes off her thoughts inside her mind. Her hands push against the mattress as she forces herself to her feet, trying to keep herself steady as her legs feel like Jell-O. She makes her way out the bedroom, down the hall and to the kitchen where Sophie's leaning against the counter, typing away furiously on her Blackberry. Again.

"Hey, Sophie?"

Sophie doesn't even look up. "Yeah?"

"Last night…" Santana pauses, and scuffs her bare foot along the kitchen tiles. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, not entirely knowing why she's nervous. "Did we, you know…"

Sophie glances up, brows furrowed. "Did we what?"

"Have sex?"

Sophie smiles weakly, eyes flickering down to Santana's lips then back up to her eyes. "No, babe. You were passed out and I'm pretty sure it'd be classed as rape if we had."

Santana deflates a little, her body sagging as leans against the counter. "Oh, right, sorry. I just drank a little too much."

"It's fine," Sophie says, a little cheerier than Santana was expecting or wanting for that matter considering she'd been going on about how good the night will be and everything, for weeks and weeks. "I barely saw you at the reception anyway."

Her heart catches in her throat, and she gulps audibly. Fuck, did Sophie see Brittany walk out crying? Does she know Santana drunk that much because of her Brittany? Shit. Now she's freaking out. "Really?"

Sophie nods. "Yeah, I spent the majority of the night with Puck, actually. He's lovely."

"Oh, right," Santana lets out a sigh of relief, bobbing her head. "Yeah, Puck's alright. Bit of an ass. Kind of why I don't see him a lot."

There was a time, just before Santana met Sophie, when she and Puck were best friends, not of course Brittany and Santana best friends, but best friends none the less. However, after a club crawl one night, Santana decided to let Puck stay over, as well as Santana's then girlfriend, Melissa, so they could continue the party into the early hours of the morning with Mr. Jack Daniels. But of course, that turned out to be a pretty stupid idea.

Cutting the story short, Santana passed out around 2am, and then when she woke around 4am, she walked in to her bedroom, to find Puck and Melissa going at it like rabbits on her bedroom floor. Since then she pretty much strayed away from Puck. It hadn't taken that long to forgive him mostly because she hadn't actually liked Melissa all that much, but it was still a trust thing. Sure, he had and still to this day, insisted that one day he would get into Santana's pants, despite not knowing what is actually in Santana's pants, but hey, he's always been clueless and to his knowledge, they were still the best of buddies, but Santana knows different.

Even meeting at the party a while back it'd been weird, because he came onto her with his supposedly sexy tone and flirtatious wink (that personally made bile rise in the back of her throat, but then again he's not even remotely near her cup of tea) and acted like everything was alright. So she practically shipped Sophie off with him, hoping her girlfriend—well, wife now—could deal with it. In hindsight though… That probably wasn't the best idea…

A buzzing sound interrupts Santana's thoughts, and she glances over to see Sophie tapping away on her phone with a weirdly large smile on her face. Her eyebrow rises quizzically, and her body turns as if she's focusing on the biscuit tin in front of her, whilst her eyes are trained on Sophie. There's a jolt of suspicion that shoots through Santana's body, and she rubs a palm over her face, feeling the ache in the back of her eyes.

"I've gotta go," Sophie says, skipping over to Santana and kissing her cheek. "I'll see you later, though?"

Santana smiles lazily. "Yeah, see you babe." She twists her head and catches Sophie's lips, whilst her hands find their way to her wife's hips. The kiss deepens, and tongues quickly find each other as lips glide together easily. Pale hands tangle into dark locks, securing their faces together and Santana bites down gently on Sophie's lip, earning a quiet moan. But Santana can't help the fact that in the back of her brain, she's unconsciously comparing her wife's lips and kisses to someone elses.

Fuck.

Sophie breaks the kiss, leaning her forehead against Santana's as they both try and catch their breath.

"I love you," she breathes out, nuzzling her nose gently against Santana's.

But for some reason, Santana can't bring herself to say the words back as they catch in her throat. What the hell is going on?

"Ditto."

A quick peck on the lips, and then Sophie's out the door, leaving Santana to drag herself back to the bed with the world's biggest hangover.

The best thing about being best friends with Brittany is that even when they have arguments or disagreements, they usually push past it within a few hours, maybe days, and then they're back to acting like everything's fine and dandy. So when she receives a text from Brittany asking if she wants to go for coffee, she gladly accepts and before she knows it, she's walking into Starbucks with her head held high and left hand feeling incredibly heavy.

Brittany's sitting in the corner table, drumming her fingertips on the counter as she focuses on life outside the window pane to her left. She's wearing a light blue blouse, skinny jeans and a pair of white converses. There's nothing smart or expensive about her outfit, but she still manages to make it look like Alexander McQueen designed it. A cup of coffee sits idly in front of Brittany, which doesn't look like it's been touched, so Santana makes her way over there, slipping into the seat and crossing one leg over the other with a smile.

"Hey Britt Britt," she murmurs, grabbing Brittany's cup and sipping tentatively. The cold liquid seeps down her throat and she winces at the taste. "You know this is cold, right?"

But when Brittany looks up, the smile fades from Santana's face. It's small; a slight crease in Brittany's eyebrows, but Santana sees it. She's always been able to see it. A tanned hand finds a pale one, and Santana lays it over the top gently, temporarily stopping the drumming.

"Britt? What's wrong?"

Blue eyes zoom onto their touching hands, and a second later, Brittany retracts her hand and crosses her arms over her chest. "My dad's ill."

Santana's eyes lock onto blue, and even though she's hurt by the loss of contact, she understands. "What's wrong with him?"

The Lopez and Pierce family never really spent a great deal of time with each other. However Santana was basically an honorary Pierce. She spent that much damn time over there, that for her tenth birthday she asked to be adopted by them. Of course her mother wasn't exactly pleased with that plan, and Brittany's mom, Anna, wouldn't oblige unless Maria did. Although, come to think of it, it was probably best they weren't related after all.

"He's got cancer," Brittany whimpers, sniffing as she wipes the back of her other hand along her nose.

It's an uncomfortable feeling really, because all Santana really wants to do is hug Brittany, run her fingers through blonde locks and tell her everything's going to be okay, but she can't. She knows about cancer. Damn, both her grandparents were taken by it and she knows that Brittany knows that too. But it doesn't stop her wanting to try and convince Brittany that things are going to be okay, that life can be a fairy-tale and no matter how bad the journey, things are bright and happy in the end. It's encoded within her to do it, like some strange law burned into her DNA, making her want to make sure Brittany's okay, making sure Brittany's not hurting and is generally okay.

Still, it doesn't change the truth. Life isn't a fairy-tale and sometimes, things don't always work out for the best.

"I'm so sorry, Britt."

"I—I just…" Tears seep out of glossy blue eyes. "I don't k—know what t—to d—do, S—San."

This time, she doesn't care that Brittany's going to reject the contact and wraps her arms around pale shoulders, pulling their bodies closer together. Her head rests on top of Brittany's, and she strokes her hand through blonde locks reassuringly. "I'm here for you, Britt."

A few strange glares are sent that way, but Santana perfected the fuck off scowl in high school, so it's not surprising the glaring Starbucks idiots return to their Apple laptops and venti macchiato's.

"It's m my dad, San," Brittany whimpers, sinking into Santana's arms as she buries her nose deep into a tanned neck.

For like the seventeenth time in the span on three days, Santana's rendered speechless. She doesn't know what to say. Sure, she's upset because Neil Pierce has always been a second dad to her, but this is Brittany's actual dad, and she can't show her real emotions on the matter because what she feels doesn't match up to what Brittany's does. And to make it worse, there's no way Santana can tell her everything's going to be alright when she has two people in her life that prove that statement very wrong.

"I know, Britt. I know."

Somewhere along the line, they started rocking back and forth slightly, and Santana decides it's easier to keep the scowl etched on her face for the time being, considering the increase in strange looks. Her eyes scan around Starbucks, when she notices the few candy canes by the ordering counter, and the Christmas themed take-away cups stacked up by the coffee machine.

"Britt," Santana starts, pulling the blonde away to look into puffy, red eyes. "What does this mean for Christmas? It's like six days away."

Another wave of tears flood out of Brittany's eyes, and Santana inwardly kicks herself as she knows how important and amazing the Pierce family always found Christmas. It was a stupid thing to say, because she knows that better than anyone else. Every year she'd get in the mini-van with Neil, Anna and Brittany's little sister Emily, drive down to SoHo's Christmas Tree Yard and buy a ridiculous 6ft Norway Spruce because Neil had grown up in England and they're the favorite Christmas tree over there, apparently.

"They're sti—still—" Brittany punctuates her sentence with a long, hard sniff, "In Engla—England."

Santana's brows come together. The Pierce's would always come back to New York, from whatever continent they decided to live on for that year, and spend every Christmas with Brittany, and of course Santana. It was an annual thing that started when Brittany went to Columbia. To say her little dorm was crowded, was putting it mildly.

"So they're not coming back this year?" Santana asks, tentatively. She doesn't want to seem insensitive for dodging the cancer bomb, but she has no idea what the hell else to say.

Brittany sniffs, and brings one hand to rub at her nose. Santana waits until the arm is back down until cradling the blonde once more, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other still resting on Brittany's shoulder. "N—no, I'll be on my o—own this—this year."

"No, you won't," Santana quickly shoots back. "We've spent every Christmas together since we were seven—bar last year—and this year isn't going to be any different."

It's true. Even before Brittany went to Columbia, Santana always woke up on Christmas day in the Pierce household, on the spare mattress until the age of thirteen, and then in Brittany's bed from then on. It was kind of an unspoken agreement that every year, Santana would sneak over on Christmas Eve—well travel down four houses—and climb up the little ledge into Brittany's room. For a seven year old, it was pretty challenging, but she found a way in the end.

Brittany brings herself out of Santana's grasp, looking deep into brown eyes. "Are you s—sure? Won't Sophie—Sophie mind?"

Santana tries not to hear the bitter edge on her wife's name as it escapes Brittany's lips, because that'll probably cause her to think about other things that are counterproductive to the situation now. It hadn't dawned on her until now that this would be the first Christmas she would be spending with Sophie, since last year she spent her entire Christmas break cooped up in her office, sorting out contracts whilst texting the girl she hooked up with a month ago, who later became the girl she'd marry.

"Screw Sophie," Santana declares with a smile. "You're my best friend."

Blue eyes widen the slightest bit, and Santana tries not to focus on the two words that just slipped out her mouth. Best friends are not what Santana would call them. Best friends would infer that there wasn't some strange ass thing going on between them which stemmed from a kiss that would blow any other first kiss of anyone of all time, right out the water.

It feels like her heart's stuttering as she brushes a piece of Brittany's hair behind her ear. What the hell is she doing?

"Best friends." Brittany repeats, lowly, like she's trying to find truth in those words.

Reluctantly, Santana nods. "Yep, so you'll be spending it with the Lopez household this year."

"Bexler-Lopez." Brittany corrects, straightening up and wiping away the mascara tracks from underneath her eyes. "I'll be spending it with the Bexler-Lopez household this year."

There are way too many feelings in the room right now, crowding with unspoken words and underlying meanings. Santana's head hurts, half from the remaining hang-over and half from the way Brittany's making her feel and she just wants a glass of water, or a few more Advil to kick herself back into action. Hangover's do strange things to her.

"Yeah," Santana breathes out, standing from her chair and offering out her hand. "Come on, let's get you home."

Brittany breathes in deeply, and ignores the extended hand as she gets up and brushes past Santana towards the door. She swallows thickly, and tries to ignore how much she's hurting Brittany, because she knows she is.

And she knows there's fuck all she can do about it.

When Santana gets home, she throws her keys on the table and then herself onto the sofa, face first. Her mind still hurts, and she still hasn't got that damn glass of water, or Advil. Stupid memory.

"Oh," Santana turns and sees Sophie standing by the door, suitcase in hand. "You're home."

Curious, Santana slowly pushes up from the sofa, eyes flickering between the suitcase and slightly wide green eyes and takes a careful step towards Sophie. "Looks like it."

"I've got to go away for a week," Sophie announces, lifting up her suitcase for emphasis. "Stock's overseas have gone bust."

"Overseas?

"Yeah, over in China."

Seeming to notice the slight quiver in Sophie's lip, which Santana has come to know as a habit that seems to mean that either she's nervous or lying, she tilts her head to the side. "China?"

Sophie grins widely, a forced grin, and makes her way to the front door, dropping the suitcase there before looping her arms around Santana's neck and pulling their bodies together. "Yeah, Clarke, my boss, said that I had to go."

Santana finds herself questioning the truth behind her wife's words. There's no reason why she should be questioning her because in reality, the chances that Sophie's sneaking off somewhere to cheat on Santana, a day after their wedding is pretty low. It's also a pretty quick, sharp reminder about how hypocritical she would be for accusing Sophie of adultery like she hasn't done it herself. "Sure, Soph."

Fingers play with the hairs at the base of her neck, and Santana shudders under the touch. She's never had the balls to tell Sophie just how much she hates when people do that, it feels creepy and she always ends up with tiny tangles that hurt like a bitch whenever she brushes through them.

"We'll just have to re-arrange our honeymoon for next year."

All the blood drains out of Santana's face, and she tries to stop her eyes from widening. Damn, she'd completely forgotten about their honeymoon. The honeymoon they were supposed to be spending in Hawaii, lounging on the beach on Christmas day with Strawberry Daiquiri's and Woo-Woo's.

"Oh," Santana breathes out, trying to feign as much disappointment into her voice in possible.

Truth is, she freaking loves Christmas. Christmas in New York with the snow, the stupidly large tree in the Rockefeller Center and ice-skating in Bryant Park, and the last thing she wanted to do was jet off to Hawaii and spend two weeks doing exactly the opposite. But once again, Sophie seemed to get her way and convince her to have their honeymoon somewhere else.

"But," Sophie smirks and leans in, ghosting her lips over the shell of Santana's ear. "When I get back, I'm going to rock your world."

The phrase completely turns Santana off. It's not like she was turned on in the first place, but hello? Weeks without sex and her body currently being pressed up against her wife like this is going to cause some inevitable constant arousal. The last person to use that phrase was Rachel Berry, bane of Santana's existence but permanent bane as it's Brittany's best friend (bar herself of course) and just ugh.

"Sounds awesome, Sophie," Santana says, trying to push past the lack of interest intoned into her voice and grins at her wife. "Can't wait."

The thought that she's going to have to sustain from sex from another week bother her more than it should, and for all the wrong reasons. It's not completely because of the fact she's really freakin' frustrated, and her left hand is becoming less and less interesting with each stroke - it's because the week she's spending away from her wife, is a week she's virtually promised Brittany she'll be spending with her. With all these feelings, and all this frustration.

Fuck.

Everything would be so much easier if feelings weren't invented, or created, or considered. Whichever. Just screw feelings, basically.

"Your Christmas present is under the tree already," Sophie announces, jutting her chin towards the tree beside the wide screen TV in the far corner. "And I've already opened mine."

Santana frowns, knowing Sophie's present is buried inside her blazer pocket since she bought it about twenty minutes ago and glances down to Sophie's neck. A silver chain hangs loosely around it, a small, diamond heart lingering between her collarbones.

Oh, crap.

"And I love it." Sophie continues, leaning forward to press a long, slow kiss to Santana's lips.

It's probably not the best idea to tell Sophie that the necklace was actually intended for Brittany because come to think of it the connotations are pretty bad. So instead she lets herself go, melting into the kiss as her fingertips press into Sophie's hips and tongue leisurely traces the contours of her wife's mouth.

When she pulls away, Santana inhales deeply and grins. "Good."

Two minutes later, Sophie's blowing a kiss to Santana as she walks out the door with suitcase in hand.

Santana lets her body slump into the mattress as she stares into the ceiling above her. "This one's pretty comfy."

The mattress bounces, and Brittany jumps onto the bed next to her, staring at the ceiling just like she is. "I guess so, but I liked the memory foam one more. I could feel it molding around my butt."

A throaty chuckle escapes her lips, and she turns her head to the left to look at her best friend. "Really? But this is a pocket spring, it works independently to respond to individual body weight and it's more luxurious with its individual small springs housed in separate fabric pockets."

"Wow."

Santana props herself up on her elbows. "What?"

"Since when did you become an expert in beds, mattress nerd?" Brittany jokes, moving her body like a dolphin to feel the mattress move underneath her.

Seeing Brittany like this reminds Santana of their childhood days. How they used to laugh at nothing, feed the ducks down in Central Park and spend hours making little forts in Brittany's front room. The huge, toothy grin that Brittany always used to make whenever she was at the peak of happiness, is shining through as her blonde hair splays across the uncovered mattress and ripples with every movement.

It takes a second for Santana to register what she's doing, to realize she's got her head cocked to the side, a small smile tugging at her lips and adoration beaming out her eyes, and it takes just another moment longer for her to cough, feigning the need to clear her throat as she sits up fully, straightening her back and bouncing her butt on the mattress as if she's actually focused on finding Brittany a new mattress.

"Shut up."

"Meanie," Brittany replies quickly, jabbing Santana in the ribs and causing her to fall back into a fit of laughter.

The hysterical giggling carries on for a while, up until the point Brittany's keeling over, grabbing her stomach and whining, "It hurts!"

Santana only chuckles more, and when she looks up, she notices just how many people are staring at them around the store. Her eyes flicker back to Brittany, who's just staring up at her from her lain position with the same toothy grin on her face.

"What?" Santana asks, furrowing her brows for a second. "What are you grinning at?" Her finger pokes the end of Brittany's nose, and her best friend scrunches her face in reaction as she shrugs.

Brittany's eyes do that sparkly thing they've always done when she's thinking about something with deep interest. Santana kinds of hates the way she knows this, mostly because when she questions the sparkle, she usually receives the same answer that always succeeds in annoying her.

"Nothing," Brittany answers, just like she always does.

Santana pouts forcefully, jutting her lower lip out and scrunching her eyebrows together. "Tell me."

Blue eyes sparkle brighter. "No."

"Tell me," Santana repeats, "Otherwise…"

"Otherwise?" The bed dips further as Brittany leans up, quirking an eyebrow and grinning evilly.

It must be because Santana's spent the past three hours trying to push Neil Pierce and his unfortunate news to the back of Brittany's mind, and managed to fail miserably, because she throws herself on top of her best friend, straddling a strong thigh as her hands tickle their way down clothed ribs. She doesn't know why she thinks putting her in such close proximity of her best friend is a good idea, or why the hell she's still doing it seeing as they're in the middle of a bed store, acting like two children.

But she does know that it's having the desired effects, because underneath the protesting squeals, shrieks and giggles, there's a certain light that beams back into Brittany's face under the touch of her tickling fingers, showing that she's just that little bit happier. And even if it doesn't last for long, Santana knows it's gradually working.

"Please," Brittany squeals as tanned fingers graze up her sides. "St—Stop!" She yells playfully.

"Tell me," Santana continues, applying a bit more pressure and trying to keep herself a top of Brittany's wriggling body.

But Brittany doesn't give in, and Santana ducks her head down as continues her assault up and down pale sides.

"San! San! I—It tickle—tickles!" The words come out as half pants because Brittany can't seem to stop herself from giggling.

It's moments like these that Santana seems to forget about everything negative in the world. It's times like these when she sees Brittany in her element, nose scrunches, eyes squeezed shut and a grin that looks like it's two seconds away from tearing her face in half, and she loves it because Santana knows she is the only one who's ever seen Brittany like this.

"Okay! Okay!" Brittany yells through giggles, managing to stop her squirming as she grabs Santana's hands. "I give up!"

Santana stops her tickling, and allows her hands to be dragged away by pale ones. They're both breathing heavily, trying to catch their breath from an intense tickle session. During their childhood days, they had what seemed like thousands of them, always because Brittany would refuse to tell Santana something, or vice versa.

The laughter dies out, and so do their smiles, but not for the same reason. It's only now that they realize just how close they are, how their bodies are touching and how this whole situation of being on a bed and being this close to each other is strangely familiar.

Every part of Brittany's face is in like high definition. The gray spots in her bright, sparkling eyes, the small freckles on her pale cheeks and her perfectly defined cheekbones that protrude so delicately from her face. She's so damn beautiful that Santana wonders why she doesn't spend the majority of her time just staring at Brittany because right now, that's exactly what she's doing.

They stay like that for a moment, eyes locked, unblinking and breaths heavy and rapid, more resembling panting than breathing.

Brittany's hair is tousled against the mattress from the tickle session, and Santana sucks in a deep breath, willing herself to either say something or do something to try and break herself from this weird stupor she's in, but she can't. All she can do is let her eyes do what they want, and what they want is to fix on Brittany's lips like they're the only thing in the world right now.

But then of course, Santana remembers they really shouldn't be doing this right now, not only because they're in the middle of Manhattan in a mattress store, but because she's married.

She climbs off Brittany reluctantly, and sits up, throwing her legs over the edge as her hands grip tightly onto the mattress. "Uh, so, what do you think? This mattress? Or the other?"

It takes everything she has not to look back at Brittany's reaction, because she knows it'll result in some heavy drinking later on tonight that may or may not burn away the imprinted image of that in her mind, but will definitely results in a hangover — one that will probably tie in with the one she's still going through.

"This one."

Before Santana can turn around to locate the source of the voice, Brittany's up and walking away briskly towards the counter.

Santana exhales slowly, bites her bottom lip, shakes her head and breathes out, "Good choice," sarcastically to herself because the double meaning is just too fucking perfect not to say it.

It's Christmas Eve.

And Santana still hasn't bought any damn presents.

Not that she has a lot of people to buy presents for, because truthfully can count the number of people on one hand. Brittany, Antonio, Sophie, The Pierce's and—because Brittany's making her—her mother.

But Sophie's already claimed hers, Antonio won't be around until February next year so it's not like she'll have to get one for him pronto, and The Pierce's—

"I already sent a present off from you to my mom and dad," Brittany explains as she walks into Santana's apartment living room and sits down on the sofa next to Santana, grasping a tub of Ben & Jerry's in one hand, spoon in the other. "So all you need to get now is your mom's."

Santana grins, shaking her head because Brittany knows her too well. "Can y—"

"And I'm not buying your mother's, San. She's your mom," Brittany scoops out a lump of ice cream and lets it hover by her mouth. "It's bad enough that you're not buying one for your dad."

Brittany bites into the ice cream and Santana quirks an eyebrows. "Sensitive teeth, Britt."

"Ow," Brittany whines as she drops the spoon into the tub and covers her mouth with her hand.

Santana giggles. "Told you."

Brittany sticks out her tongue, which is covered in a white creamy substance. It resembles something strangely arousing and Santana finds herself gulping against a thickened throat and tucking her knees up by her chest, even though she knows it's just melted ice cream. Stupid vanilla flavor.

After about a few seconds, Brittany's face relaxes from its pained expression and she returns to licking the ice cream, which really isn't helping either.

"Don't change the subject, San. You've gotta go buy a present for your mom."

Santana pouts. "She's a bitch, Britt. You know that."

"She's your mom."

"She's a bitch."

"Still your mom."

It's a stupid argument, one that Santana knows she's going to lose because to Brittany, family is family, no matter what.

"Fine," Santana huffs, crossing her arms. "I'll go buy a damn present but I'm not happy about it," she pauses and looks at her pointedly. "Or happy with you, for that matter."

Brittany shrugs and grins. "I'm sure I'll get over it."

Santana squints and purses her lips. "Ass."

"You love me."

"Whatever."

"Which one?" Brittany asks, holding up a two make-up bags. "Purple or blue?"

"I don't care," Santana grunts, tapping her foot impatiently as she glances around the shop.

Brittany pokes her in the shoulder, and pulls her brows together. "San, choose."

She can't stop the grin when she turns and sees Brittany frowning and pouting simultaneously. It's the same expression she gets every single time Brittany's trying to be mad at her but it never stays that way for long.

"If the wind changes your face is going to stay like that you know," Santana quips, quirking an eyebrow.

Blue eyes narrow. "Just because I believed you in high school, doesn't mean I will now."

Santana chuckles and pulls a toothy grin. "Sure, Britt. Sure."

Santana has never been one for Christmas shopping, or shopping in general. She's always sworn to hate it, and said that it's only fun when you have your dad's credit card with an unlimited amount and can basically buy whatever the hell you want, but even then it's pretty damn boring. The people, the security guards that even now seem to follow her around the store (despite her being a respectable adult) and even the damn shops. Why does there have to be so many things in the world? Someone should invent a universal present that everyone will enjoy, and that'll last forever so the buying will be a one-time thing and that's that.

"Not all of us a Scrooge's," Brittany replies, grinning widely. "Some people like Christmas shopping."

Santana looks around, confused. Was she speaking out loud? "What?"

"You're doing that thing, that looks like…" Brittany puts down both of the make-up bag and puts on an expression that Santana can only imagine is an impersonation of her own. "Where you think too much. Plus, you were talking out loud."

"Sorry," Santana mumbles, scuffing her shoe along the ground. "I'm just bored."

"Well if you chose a color," she pauses to point towards the make-up bags. "Then we could get out of here."

"I don't think she'd want a make-up bag." Santana says, disinterestedly.

Brittany's face falls. "Well what would she want then? Make your damn mind up."

She says the sentence with affection lacing it, so Santana giggles and says, "I don't know. Maybe some dog crap in a brown paper bag. Hand it to her, maybe set it on fire and maybe she'll leave me the hell alone."

"San…" Brittany warns in a low tone.

Santana throws her arms up in the air. "I don't know, Britt! Maybe a cheap vase or something. She'll probably end up selling it anyway."

"Perfect."

Brittany grabs Santana's wrist and tugs her out the shop, and down the path to her right until they get to a small-town shop. There's several different glass displays in the window, all of which contain various glass objects like drinking glasses or vases, and a few pieces of jewelery to the far left. Santana's barely aware the journey though as her eyes are fixed on the long, slender fingers curled around her wrist. Her feet are moving, but her mind is set on where they're touching, and how her skin is burning where Brittany's meets hers.

"San?" Brittany says, quietly, trying to catch her attention.

Santana breathes deep, shaking her head and trying to restart her brain. "Huh?"

"You need to choose this one. I'm not your servant."

"But you'd like to be," Santana winks, pushing the innuendo further. Although, as soon as her eye flicks back open, she realizes just how awkward her gesture and words were and starts to open her mouth, like she can actually form any words, to say something.

But Brittany swats away the awkward sign hanging in the air, and smile. "Actually, I'm good. I have standards."

Santana's laughing, even though she knows she could be offended, but it's just how they work, faking insults and cracking jokes at each other.

Still, she plays along anyway, swiping her hands down her clothes. "Puh—lease, Brittany. If you got the chance you'd be all up on this."

"I could get this," Brittany steps closer, biting her lip as her eyes darken, trailing down Santana's body and back up again, incredibly slowly. "Anytime I want."

Santana gulps, feeling her cheeks flush pink as Brittany's breath blankets her face. The expression on Brittany's face sends a shot of arousal down her body, where it bottoms out below her belt. "Uh... Uh."

But then Brittany grins, evilly, steps back and straightens up. "Gotcha." She says through a chuckle, before entering the shop and holding the door open.

Santana slides in, murmuring a quick thank you and then proceeds to walk around the shop, trying to shake of the growing arousal in the pit of her stomach. What the hell just happened? If she didn't know any better, she'd be thinking Brittany was flirting with her… Then again, does she know any better?

The shop is quaint. There's various colors darted around the shop, none of which seem to be organized. On the right hand side of it, a row of glass cases, identical to the ones in the window, line it – all containing various glass objects. But to the left of the shop, there are a few thin tables propped up against the wall, stacked with black velvet shapes forming various body parts. There's a neck, with a small chain hanging off it, a hand with a few silver rings on the fingers, and thenmuch to Santana's disgust—she's always hated toes, they're like fingers for your feet—there's a foot with a couple of different colored toe rings. In the center of the shop, there's a counter with an old-fashioned brass till and a smiling red-head behind it.

Her fingers dance across the glass cabinet as she moves from one side to the other, whilst her eyes take in the various objects. There's pretty much every type of vase in there, block vase, cube case, tower vase, unique vase etc.

(Where the hell did this extensive knowledge on vases come from?)

"Britt," Santana calls, her eyes still trained on a purple vase in the back corner. "Think I got one."

Brittany pops up beside her, bumping her shoulder playfully against Santana's. "Which one?"

Santana points to the vase and turns her head, ready to gauge Brittany's reaction. The blonde nods in approval, tucking a piece of her own hair behind her ear which despite the simplicity of the gesture, makes Santana's eyes widen in fascination. How is that possible?

"I like it."

"Awesome," Santana grins, trying to distract Brittany from the awe present in her face. "I'll get the lady."

She waves the still smiling redhead from behind the counter, and nods, as if to say we want to buy something. Apparently it works, despite the stupidity of the idea, and she walks over two seconds later, key in hand. Brittany steps back, allowing the redhead to slide in and open the lock, whilst humming along to the Beyoncé song playing on the radio overhead and Santana grins at her best friend, imagining her swaying to the music inside her dance studio, along with a few kids. She definitely knows how Brittany went on tour with Beyoncé. This girl can shake her ass like she's black and move like a dream across the stage.

"Come on Britt," Santana says as the redhead walks back to the counter. "You know this one."

Brittany's eyes sparkle at Santana, and then she bites her lip and shakes her head in a silent refusal. "San, no."

But being Santana, she ignores her and raises both arms up in front of her, pumping them back and forth whilst moving her knees in a similar action like she's seen Brittany do. "Like this?"

Brittany starts laughing, her face widening with a toothy grin as the most harmonious chuckle comes out. She slaps Santana playfully on the shoulder, as if to say stop because she can't, but Santana only continues, putting her hands up in the air and swaying her hips, bumping hers against Brittany's. Soon enough, they both start chuckling, laughing about like a couple of teenagers, whilst Santana stands behind Brittany and grabs her wrists, motioning them back and forth and saying, 'This is the Santana Ladies Dance' in opposed to the 'Single Ladies Dance'.

Brittany's back vibrates against Santana's chest as they both continue to laugh, with their hands flailing about and resembling mental health patients, but they don't care. They're having fun.

After a minute or two, the laughter dies down and Santana's left with aching cheek and abs muscles. She pats her stomach, as if that's going to help the hurt and looks up to see Brittany doing the same thing.

"You're such a loser," Brittany states playfully, remains of her laughter still cracking through on a few of her words.

Santana scrunches her nose. "At least I'm not alone."

"Yeah, yeah," Brittany laughs. "Now pay up."

They turn back to the counter, and Santana shoots the redhead a quick smile, whose name is Emma according to her name badge, and Santana drums her fingers drum on the counter top impatiently. Emma carefully picks up the piece, and marvels at it between her hands, before flicking her wide eyes towards Brittany and Santana with a sappy smile.

"Couples always love this piece."

Santana's face drops and she blinks incredulously. "Excuse me?"

Emma gestures to the vase, and grins widely. "Couples always love this piece. Newlyweds I presume?"

The awkwardness runs through Santana, and she can't find it inside herself to summon any words. Her eyes flicker towards Brittany, who's shuffling her weight onto her other leg and plucking at the hem of her shirt. Apparently Santana's not the only one feeling awkward.

So she clears her throat and tries to act cool. "Uh, no. We're not married."

"Oh, well please do accept my apologies." Emma starts, wrapping the vase in a layer of bubble wrap for protection whilst shaking her head. Santana can just imagine this woman being a counselor or something; her tone is condescending and empathetic, and she generally has an awkward aura about her. Just like Santana knows counselors to have.

Brittany's phone starts to buzz next to her, playing out a robotic version of a classic British telephone. "Sorry, I'm just gonna get this," she mutters, her voice low and straining with the awkward atmosphere.

Santana nods, and watches as Brittany steps out the shop, phone pressed to her ear. Her eyes linger on the way Brittany twirls a piece of hair between her fingers when the conversation gets interesting, and how she inspects her nails when it gets boring, or how she taps her foot when she just wants to get off the phone. Even though the stupid cashier just made the atmosphere really fucking awkward—and she probably shouldn't be thinking this for more than one reason—she can't take her mind off how cute Brittany looks when she scrunches her nose, throws back her head and chuckles.

"That's the third time I've done that this week."

Intrigued, Santana quirks an eyebrow, turns and leans one palm onto the counter top to stare at Emma. "Done what?"

"Met a couple and assumed they're newlyweds because they're in love." The redhead announces, breaking off a piece of sellotape and applying it. "The first time I did it, the couple ended up arguing and walking out without paying. I mean, I didn't chase after them because it was the least I could do." Emma looks up, eyebrows raised innocently and a small smile on her face. "Will that be all?"

"Uh, yeah."

Santana hands over a twenty dollar bill, and then grabs the bag before smiling at Emma and turning. Just as she goes to exit, with her mind swimming with confused thoughts, she hears an excuse me and then sees Emma walking up towards her.

"You forgot your receipt," Emma says, handing over the small piece of flimsy paper. "Oh, and please forgive me for my rudeness. But if I were you, I wouldn't wait that long for that one. She loves you."

Startled, Santana stumbles on her words and comes out with something resembling what and huh, which ends up being, "Whuh?"

"Judging by her face when I mentioned marriage," Emma nods towards the window pane, which Brittany's standing outside of, still on the phone, "She wants it because she loves you."

"Sh—she l—loves me?"

Emma nods. "That looks says it all."

Santana's wary for a minute, her eyes trained on the redhead as her body twists round. Seconds later, her eyes flicker towards the windowpane, immediately locking eyes with Brittany. The blonde's eyes are bright and sparkling, almost twinkling as her pink lips start to curl up at the side. A perfectly set of white teeth show as the grin widens, and blue eyes transform into crystal sapphire whilst her wonderfully pale skin glows. She doesn't fight the huge grin that spreads across her own face in return, and she knows that being friends with Brittany will undoubtedly end up with her being a wrinkly old woman with all that smiling and laughing.

But Santana's taken aback for a moment as a certain sparkle catches her attention, and her head involuntarily tilts to the side as if she's inspecting her best friend. There's nothing uncertain behind Brittany's eyes, nothing bad or negative and one look into Brittany's eyes could tell anyone about her personality. The clear, bright and pure blue that create her beautiful orbs reflect herself, and in the back of her mind, Santana wonders if that means her dark, brown eyes describe her personality. If it does then fuck.

"And so does yours."

The words seep into her brain, letter by letter, and it takes a few seconds before Santana can process them. "What?"

But by the time she turns around, Emma's already returned to the counter, serving another customer and smiling innocently like she'd never said a word. There's no reason why Santana should feel weird about this stranger's speculation, after all, it is a stranger's speculation. That doesn't mean a thing when it comes to her and Brittany. Damn, even her mother thought there was something going on between them, and had done for years. But that doesn't mean it's true. Sure, it's strange, two people so close that they're mistaken for a couple who're deeply in love, but it doesn't matter.

Then again, why didn't Santana correct Emma?

"Are you planning on buying anything else or can we go get something to eat?" Brittany smiles, after suddenly appearing in front of Santana. "I'm starving."

The doorbell rings as they step out, and Santana throws a quick glance over to Emma who smiles politely at her and mouths she loves you. Finally, when she manages to get her bearings and puts one foot in front of the other, she turns back to Brittany and forces a smile.

"Sure, Britt. Whatever you want."

Barney's is without doubt, Santana's favorite bar.

It's her sanctuary where she can let loose, get Grayson the cook to make her the best burger she's ever had, order a few beers and basically kick back and chill out. Ever since discovering it during her college days, she decided that every Wednesday night from 7.30pm onwards, Barney's would be her hiding place for a few relaxed hours. Barney, the actual owner of the bar was pretty forgiving when she turned up on her 21st birthday finally being able to give him her real name, and ever since she'd been coming every Wednesday.

Yeah, sure, Barney's is a little shady. It's one of those back-alley bars with a jukebox in the corner, a few rogue cops by the cigarette machine, the stereotypical regulars and a scuffed up pool table in the center with snapped in half cues, but it's Santana's place. It's her hiding place, her time-alone place that she's never shared with anyone, including Sophie.

So when she walks into Barney's, shooting a smile at the new bouncer Karofsky, with Brittany in toe, she should've been more prepared for the gobsmacked expressions on their faces.

"Hey Santana," Barney greets, eyes flickering between Brittany and herself. "Who's your friend?"

"Brittany," the blonde offers, along with her hand which Barney gladly takes. "Nice to meet you."

Barney looks skeptical. "You too."

Santana nods and then sidles up on one of the stools, gesturing to the one beside her for Brittany to take. Without even asking, Barney slides a Budweiser across the counter top, before pausing and looking at Brittany with a confused expression. It's only confused because Barney's has never been one for new customers. Strange as it seems, ever since Santana came here during her college days, and received the exact same expression, no-one new has ever walked through the door. So it's not all that surprising that Barney's opening and closing his mouth like he doesn't know what the hell to serve a woman of Brittany's stature.

"And for you?" Barney asks, warily, his eyes still darting between the two.

Brittany snaps herself from surveying the room, her eyes bright and sparkling like she likes what she sees. It's not that Santana hates the interior of the bar, but red upholstered benches and stools, dim lights and dark walls doesn't exactly give out the homey vibe.

"Hmm," Brittany ponders, looking at the various liquor bottles stacked on the far shelves. "SoCo, L and L, please."

Barney turns to Santana with a what the fuck expression, so Santana chuckles, throws back the rest of her beer before rounding the bar and sliding in like she owns the place.

"I'll get it," she mutters to Barney, who throws a dirty rag over his shoulder, smiles and heads out the back door, probably for a cigarette. She could own the place, she knows everyone well enough too.

"Are you even allowed to do that?" Brittany asks, eyes grinning but no smile present on her face. "Like you own the place?"

Santana winks and grabs the glass bottle with lime cordial scribbled on the front. "I basically do own the place with the amount of money I put into it."

Brittany leans one elbow on the bar top, resting her head in her hand. "Oh yeah? Through what? Bets and beers?"

"Yeah, actually," Santana smiles, throwing up a small glass into the air and catching it behind her back. She's learned a few things from Barney over the years, plus, pre-Sophie times, it would make any of her dates practically drool over her at the bar in her apartment. "Pretty much spot on there, Britt."

"I doubt Sophie would be pleased if you came home with a bartenders salary, San."

The lime cordial is still pouring out the bottle, but Santana's movements are long gone. She's paused, one hand grasping a glass bottle and the other grasping the sofa gun. She looks up after a long second, eyes narrowed and brows pushed together. "What's that meant to mean?"

Brittany just smiles and leans back. "Nothing."

And Santana can't be bothered to ask because in all honesty, she already knows what that means. Sophie's never been one for lack of money, in fact on the night they met, Sophie had told her countless times how many guys she'd slept with just so they bought her something. It hadn't bothered Santana much back then, mostly because she thought that within twelve hours, she'd never be seeing the woman again, but as time went on, the annoyance had increased, especially when Sophie would conveniently 'forget' to bring her purse to dinner. Typical.

"Oh." Santana returns to mixing the drink. "Okay."

A few ice cubes and three shots of Southern Comfort later, Santana's back to the stool sipping on another bottle of beer. "Are you still hungry?"

Brittany crosses one leg over the other, sips her glass and raises one side of her lip. "Meh, a bit."

"How can you go from starving to a bit hungry?" Santana chuckles, running one hand through her hair. "Pretty sure that's not possible."

"I may have been over exaggerating a little," Brittany admits, grinning widely. "But that redheaded woman kept giving me creepy looks."

Santana's throat thickens, and she looks away, spinning halfway on the stool to face the bar again. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. What were you two talking about anyway?"

The memory of the conversation runs through her brain. She's not going to tell Brittany what they actually said, mostly because if Brittany asked her why she didn't just admit they weren't together in the first place, she'd just sit there, shrugging like an idiot. Plus, it'd be a little weird, telling your best friend that some random shop worker thinks she's in love with you. Then again, it could be because Santana doesn't want to hear the answer, doesn't want to hear the denial and then feel like her stomach just fell out her ass. Not that she would because you know… She doesn't care what Brittany feels for her. Not at all.

"Santana?" Brittany reaches over and brushes the edge of her hand against Santana's cheeks, fingertips momentarily delving into her dark locks. "Come back."

Unconsciously, Santana finds herself leaning into the touch and snaps herself out of it. "Huh?"

"I asked what you and Emma were talking about," Brittany explains, retracting her hand and placing it back around her glass. "And then you went all spacey on me."

Santana fingers the label of her bottle and bites down on her lower lip. "Oh, my bad. We were just talking about vases." The excuse is so awful that she doesn't even believe herself, and nearly scoffs as her eyes flicker down to the small bag by her feet.

"Vases?"

"Yeah, vases."

She can feel Brittany's quizzical expression boring into the side of her temple, and can practically spell out the word bullshit she knows is going to follow anytime soon. Well, that's until Brittany's phone buzzes against the counter top, creating a woody vibration that surges down the entire bar. It's cheap, what you gonna do about it?

Brittany picks up her phone, and slides it before her eyes dart from left to right, reading the text. Almost immediately, she breaks out into a strangely large smile and Santana sips on her beer, narrowing her eyes and trying to look as disinterested as she can.

Of course, the curiosity gets the better of her, and no more than three seconds later, she asks, "Who's that?" as nonchalantly as possible.

"Just some guy," Brittany shrugs, tapping one final time on her phone before clicking the top and placing it back down on the counter top. "No biggy."

Santana smirks and raises an eyebrow, "A guy, huh?" She nudges her shoulder playfully against Brittany's, earning a chuckle.

"Yeah. guy. You know, like the opposite sex to us."

"I know what it means," Santana replies quickly. "Smart ass."

Even when the word smart is used in the context is just has been, Brittany seems to beam with joy. It's not like Brittany was stupid because she's never been stupid. During high school, sure, she had an independent way of thinking, one that would require a lot of understanding to actually make sense of her thoughts and sentences, but stupid? Never.

"Ass," Brittany pipes up, sipping the last over her vodka before looking around the bar. "Where's the loo?"

Santana continues to laugh, and takes her elbow of the counter to wave towards the right of the bar. "Over there, through the door that doesn't look like thousands of grubby man hands have been on it."

"Okay," Brittany hops down from the stool, phone in hand. "Be back in a minute."

Santana's skeptical to say the least. Her expression is reflecting it as her eyes trail Brittany across the bar, until she disappears behind a wooden door. All the years of knowing Brittany, and never once has she gone to the toilet with her phone, something about it being unhygienic and unpleasant. What if someone calls you when you're peeing? Santana recalls in a Brittany like-voice inside her mind..That'd just be awkward.

The memory creates a chuckle to rumble from the pit of her stomach, and she suppresses it knowing how sad she'd look to anyone who hadn't seen Brittany with her. She'd just look like some strange, lonely woman drinking in a shady bar and giggling quietly to herself. Well, possibly without the quiet part.

She takes these few alone moment to survey the bar. Over in the far corner, there's just an empty space next to the cigarette machine—where the two rogue cops usually are—strange but not unusual in the recent weeks. To the left of the machine, there's the Jukebox, up against the wall and playing out some smooth jazz, Michael Buble or Anita Baker probably, and then to the left of that, is the deserted pool table. She has nothing better to do, so she gets up, and heads towards the table.

By the time she reaches the pool table, she finally realizes the lack of people inside of the bar. She knows it's not usually full, but there are at least a few people, five minimum, but tonight, there's just her, Barney and Brittany, even though Barney isn't anywhere to be seen at the moment.

"Up for a game?"

Santana turns to the voice. Brittany's standing there, hip cocked against the pool table and slight smirk on her face. Her blonde hair is hanging over one side of her shoulder, revealing the toned, pale skin of her other. Maybe it's the fourth beer talking… But damn, Brittany's looking really hot right now.

"Uh, yeah. You down with that, Britt?"

Brittany smiles, and walks towards Santana, biting her bottom lip. "Only if you're prepared to have your ass kicked."

"Sure, Britt." Santana turns back to the table, setting up the pool balls into triangle. "If that makes you feel any better, then you can believe it."

There's affection lacing her tone, and Brittany slaps her in the arm playfully before grabbing two pool cues which much to Santana's surprise aren't actually snapped in half. Brittany doesn't seem to notice, and hands one to her before setting up her first shot after calling shotgun. She shoots, and the balls spread across the table, one going straight into the top right hand corner pocket.

"Damn," Santana comments, eyebrows meeting her hairline. "Who knew you could play."

"I learned a few things during past two years," Brittany points out, eyes still trained on where to take her next shot. She spots it a few seconds later, and then slowly turns towards Santana. "Things you don't know about," she adds with another wink.

Santana gulps against a very thickened throat. Shit, is Brittany flirting with her? "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

There's only the sound of Brittany taking another shot, and the balls clinking together. Santana looks around the room, tightening her grip on the pool cue and trying not to focus on the fact that Brittany's ass is sticking out, just at the right angle for her to stare at. Is that intentional?

"Just things," Brittany quips, letting out a laugh that Santana's pretty sure is flirtatious. She straightens up, nodding approvingly at where the balls are spread across the dark green felt and then slipping onto one of the many vacant tables surrounding the pool table. The blonde picks up her drink, and licks her lips before sipping gently at the glass and it seems the simple action has Santana dazed, because her mouth is slightly open and her breathing is getting heavier, not to mention her pants are tighter.

Santana narrows her eyes and manages to grin, despite the discomfort she's feeling beneath her skinny jeans. "Right, things."

Brittany hums and Santana moves around the table, trying to find a decent angle to shoot at whilst glancing at each of the balls. Damn, she has no idea when Brittany learned to play but she might as well just give up now. But surely enough, she finds a shot and makes quick work of it. Unfortunately, no balls go in, but her mind isn't exactly focused on those balls at the moment, especially with Brittany smirking at her through dark blue eyes.

"So," Santana starts, trying to take her attention away from her best friend that's pretty much bending over inches away from her. "Who was on the phone?"

Brittany edges her arm back and forth, trying to find the right amount of pressure. "Um, a guy."

"Yeah," Santana's voice is inquisitive. Possibly a little too inquisitive, but she can't fight the way there's a wash of jealousy churning in the pit of her stomach as well as the liquor. Alcohol has never done anything great for her. "What guy?"

"Some guy I know," Brittany shrugs before shooting, the ball going straight into middle left pocket. "No-one special."

She doesn't know whether it's the alcohol, or whether it's the jealousy, or even the alcohol and jealousy mixing together but suddenly she's pressed up against Brittany's side, leaning a little too closely and inhaling her best friend's sweet scent. "Who is it?"

"Why do you, um—" Brittany gulps audibly, eyes still trained on her unmoving cue. "Want to know?"

"Curiosity," Santana replies, backing away and immediately missing the buzz she felt between their skin. "Never hurt anyone," she adds, perching on the table Brittany was previously occupying.

Brittany shoots, the cue sliding over the ball and missing completely. "Curiosity killed the cat, San."

"What cat?"

Santana grins as Brittany turns and raises a fair eyebrow. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Santana hops off the table to take her turn. "I know what you mean.

It's 1am when Barney interrupts their intense game of pool to tell them that he's going home. They've been playing for a good hour or two, and during that time they've been getting free drinks from Barney who hand delivered them. There's a small brunette behind the bar, giggling hysterically and muttering things to the bar tender whenever he disappears, and Santana just rolls her eyes with Brittany every time they hear an oh my God or you're so funny. Seriously, that chick just wants some dick.

"I'm going home, guys," Barney announces, slapping the small brunette's ass as she leaves the bar through the front door. "Santana, lock up on your way out?"

Santana nods, and feels the shocked expression on Brittany's face from across the table. "Sure, Barney. Thanks. I'll leave you a little something next to the till for tomorrow."

"Cheers," Barney says, shrugging his coat on and pulling up the lapels. "Nice to meet you, Brittany." He looks to Santana and nods. "Santana."

He leaves, flicking off the outside lights and shutting the door behind him. Santana turns to Brittany who's no longer lining up her shot, and see's the confused look on her face.

"What?" She slurs a little, feeling the eighth beer sink in.

"I never knew you had a little place like this."

"Like what?"

Brittany smiles up at Santana, before shooting and putting the last of her color balls. "A hiding place."

"Who said it's a hiding place?"

"Come on San," Brittany murmurs, straightening up and returning to her beer. After her third vodka and lemonade, she just wanted to drink a Budweiser with Santana. It's a typical Brittany thing, getting bored of the drink she has and turning to something more simplistic, just because it's easier to make. Well, receive more like. "You're like the president of this place. Everyone knows you, and Barney even let you go behind the bar."

Santana grins and brushes past Brittany as she leans to take her shot. "You sound like you have a hiding place."

"Yeah, I do," Brittany hums in agreement as she grabs her Budweiser and takes a short sip.

She shoots, and putts two of her balls, leaving her level with Brittany. "Oh, yeah? And what's yours? The dance studio?"

Brittany fakes a gasp, and puts her free hand over her chest. "Am I that transparent?"

"Shut up," Santana jokes, moving around the table to stand in front of Brittany. "Where is it?"

Blue eyes light up. "That would be telling."

"But I'm your best friend," Santana says as she tries to pout. It was something she never really managed to get a hold on. Brittany was always the pouter, always the one that got what she wanted because she could jut out her bottom lip and have cuteness overload branded onto her forehead. Santana however, always had to wear a balcony bra, or a low cut top to get what she wanted, and then she wasn't regarded cute, she was known to be hot or smoking. Not that she really had a problem with that. "You have to tell me."

"Nuh uh." Brittany argues, bending down to reveal her perfect a—No. Santana can't think like that. Even though the alcohol level in her bloodstream is making that incredibly difficult. "It's not a necessity."

Santana steps closer, and smiles down at her best friend, suddenly finding herself a hell of a lot closer than she was a minute ago. "It should be."

Brittany gives her a wry smile. "Well, it's not. Deal with it."

Brittany straightens up, the whoosh of air as she does so washing over Santana's face. She doesn't know when the hell this happened, but they're now about three inches away from each other, with what seems like less than that between their bodies. A spark ignites over her body as they gaze into each others eyes, the warmth radiating through every inch of her. Every moment they've had together over the past few weeks, seem to flash before her eyes — every touch, every word, and every look.

Stupid Emma, the ginger shop assistant clouding Santana's brain with her wide-eyes and confusing words. If it wasn't for her, Santana wouldn't be standing here in front of her best friend, one that she cheated on her then fiancée with merely weeks ago, with her eyes flicking between dark cerulean orbs and perfectly pink lips. Scenes from that conversation begin to flash through her mind. Not now, she doesn't need that now; even worse, scenes from the night of their first which had her doubting her own damn marriage are joining her memories. The way their bodies clicked together perfectly, how their lips found a familiar yet brand new rhythm and moved, and how it just felt so damn right.

And on top of all of that, she knows her tanned complexion is growing redder with every passing second, and that it'd be pretty damn hard for Brittany not to notice.

And now that damned mesmerizing kiss they shared is screening every restraint possible inside her mind, slowly crumbling any resolve she has to pull away before it's repeated again, because if she stays like this, she knows she won't pull away.

So she doesn't.


	8. Chapter Eight

Santana's eyes widen as she sees the expression on Brittany's face and the shade of blue change. She's seen that look before – a few weeks ago when… Oh. It seems Santana's not the only one thinking about that night. Her heart starts pounding, chest throbbing against the beat and she can feel the pool cue slipping out her hand from the clamminess brewing in her palms.

But…

Yes, there's always a fucking but. Nothing's changed since the last time they were this close, nothing's changed at all. Sophie's still Santana's wife and Brittany's still her best friend. It's off limits. Way off limits. And frankly, despite it feeling really fucking right, her moral guidelines knows better.

So, incredibly reluctantly, she utters the first words that pop into her mind and immediately bites down on the regret she feels washing through her body. "Another drink?"

"No," Brittany breathes, still unmoving from her close proximity. "I've got one."

Santana summons the strength to move away, and slides away to perch back on the table. There's a strange atmosphere floating around them. It's not surprising really, considering there's obviously something blooming between them, or had been before she stupidly stepped away. Wait, no, not stupidly.

"It's Mike."

She's pulled from her thoughts, and swigs down a sip of her beer to hide the jealousy biting at her tongue. Not fucking Mike Chang. Mike Chang and his muscular body, well paid job, high status and sickeningly good dance moves. Mike Chang and his blood boiling kindness, and the difficulty to hate him because he's not actually a bad person. Fuck.

The disinterest flashes across her face, and she feels her upper lip curl in preparation to show it. "As in, Chang? Mike Chang?"

"Yeah." Brittany nods, lining up her next shot. "We got talking at the wedding."

Well that's just fucking great. Not only is Brittany now seeing this guy, but she practically pushed them towards each other. As if them working together wasn't bad enough already. Fuck. "Oh. That's nice."

Halfway towards the pool table, Brittany stands in front of her, dangerously close. "Is that okay?"

No. "Yes."

Brittany seems unconvinced - her brows are furrowed, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. "Are you sure?"

They're too close to be having a conversation like this, especially with the alcohol coursing through her bloodstream and obviously wanting spark igniting between the two. This is her best friend – this is Brittany. Santana should be happy for her. Mike's a good guy, he would treat her well, and they would be good together. But all of that kind of makes the situation worse. Why couldn't she pick a jackass to date? That would make everything somuch easier.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Santana retorts sharply, her tone holding accusation. Still, despite her actually forcing the unheard question, she can't help but feel guilty. She's the one that's married, to her wife, who she lives with, and so on. Not Brittany. "I don't care."

Brittany sucks in her top lip, her eyes flashing with disappointment as she lets out a breathy sigh and shakes her head. Without answering the question, she brushes past Santana, abandoning the game as she puts her pool cue back into its holster and grabs her coat. "It's late. We should be going."

And then she exits, leaving Santana to feel just that little bit shitter. Fucking great.

Idling at another pedestrian light whilst the New York traffic drives by, Santana turns to Brittany on her right. She's standing there, arms crossed and blonde hair flowing in the light breeze, and apart from the subtle hardness behind her usually bright blue eyes, she'd seem pretty care free. But this is Brittany and Santana we're talking about, and Santana can always see it. She's always seen it.

"You okay?" She asks, tentatively.

There's a pause before Brittany looks at her with a 'really?' look on her face. "Yep, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Santana asks, because she knows Brittany isn't fine."Because you don't seem it."

"I'm fine." Brittany repeats in a dismissive tone.

Santana feels her face get hot with anger. What the hell did she even do? Instead of mulling over possibilities, she stops, pulling Brittany around by the elbow and gazing at her.

"San, what the-"

"What did I do?" Santana demands, quirking one eyebrow and pursing her lips.

Brittany looks taken aback by the question and tugs her arm out of Santana's grasp. "Nothing."

Once again, Santana lurches forward and pulls on Brittany's elbow, spinning the blonde around until they're staring at each other. "Britt."

"San."

There's a small smile trying to tug at her lips, and she knows it's the alcohol making this situation more comical than it should be. Especially with Brittany's lips quirking up at the side slightly, just like her own.

"Stop it." Santana says, firmly, hardening her facial muscles so the smile can't break through. "Don't make me smile, tell me what I've done."

Brittany's face falls, sensing the seriousness in Santana's tone and her features turn stoic. "You haven't done anything."

"Then why the fuck, are you off with me?" Her voice is louder than she expected, and Brittany looks around the street quickly, blushing as she notices several people staring over in their direction. But Santana doesn't care, right now she's pissed. An hour ago, Brittany was flirting with her, getting all up in her personal space, and now, Brittany's looking off into the distance blankly and dismissing most of Santana's questions with short, blunt answers. So she wants to know what the fuck is going on?"

"It's fucking Christmas Eve, and we're arguing in the middle of the street at two o'clock in the morning." Santana gestures around the street, to a few people watching them warily. "So could you just fucking tell me what I've done so we can sort this shit out?"

Brittany crosses her arms, taps her foot impatiently on the floor and licks her lips briefly before squaring her shoulders. "You haven't done anything, okay? It's all me. I'm angry at myself."

"What?" Santana's eyes narrow in confusion. "Why are you angry at yourself?"

Brittany opens her mouth, but the swiftly closes it. Blue eyes don't meet brown as they search the street, but Santana knows Brittany isn't actually looking for or at anything – just trying to avoid eye contact. It's a nervous habit that Santana's learnt over the past few years, where Brittany wants to say something, but can't. Usually it starts with watery eyes, or fidgeting hands, then it goes onto avoiding eye contact and then to either breaking down and blurting out everything, or shutting Santana out completely.

And for some reason, Santana doesn't think it's going to be the first one.

"I just…" Brittany breathes in, pushing her fingertips into her temples and rubbing furiously. "Mike asked me out and I don't know what to do."

Santana's quizzical. Why would Brittany be mad at herself for that? "He asked you out?"

"Yeah."

She takes a step forward, closing the gap between them and losing all spatial awareness as their faces inch closer together. "And what are you going to say?"

"Uhm…" Brittany stutters, biting her bottom lip and flicking her eyes down towards Santana's lips and then back up again.

Santana gulps audibly, and then shuffles the tiniest bit closer until the toes of their shoes are touching. Her breath is mingling with Brittany's in the miniscule space between them, and their eyes are darting between each other. The air is thick with a tense atmosphere buzzing between them, and she knows that Brittany can sense it too.

Someone honks a horn and they're both broken from the trance they've fallen under. Brittany's head jerks away like she's just been physically shocked, and Santana almost recoils too. But she needs to know, she doesn't know why, but she's certain she needs too. Maybe it's alcohol, maybe it's this weird Brittany bubble she's standing in, or maybe it's because she's starting to realize something she should've done a long time ago.

"Well?" Santana presses on, stepping forward again and forcing Brittany to take a step back. "What are you going to say?"

Brittany shifts her weight from one leg to the other and rings her hands in front of her body. The back of her right hand brushes against the small slither of skin showing between Santana's t-shirt and low-rising jeans, and both their eyes widen at the touch. A tingling sensation spirals up her spine, curdling at her nerves and causing them to fizzle out until she physically shivers at the raw feeling coursing through her body. Brittany really shouldn't be having this effect on her, but right now she couldn't actually give a crap.

"I already said yes." Brittany admits, flatly, her eyes squinting slightly. "We're going out on Boxing Day."

Santana steps back, the reality of the situation and the ring on her finger weighing down on her. "Boxing Day?"

"Yeah." Brittany nods, stepping further away and creating a respectable distance between the two. "Just for like an hour or two. Few drinks."

Santana tries not to show the huge disinterest flushing through her and hooks her thumbs into the back pockets of her jeans, rocking up onto the balls of her feet nonchalantly. She doesn't mean it, but the next few words come out with raw sarcasm and jealousy, incredibly evident. "Well I hope you have a fucking great time with ninja boy."

Not wanting to see Brittany's reaction, and knowing she's just shown a bit more interest than she wanted too, she swiftly turns and heads down the street, not entirely sure of her destination. There's a large hole burning in between her shoulder blades, and she can feel the blue eyes doing so as she round the corner, and moves out of sight. Without peeping to make sure Brittany wasn't following, she hastily presses her back up against the wall, palms either side of her and pants heavily, widening her eyes and trying to blink away the white spots forming in front of her eyes.

Damn, what the hell was she thinking? Showing plain jealousy and verbally wording it? She might as well have just demanded that Brittany shouldn't go on this date, or written it on a piece of paper and stapled it to her forehead. Fuck. Sometimes she can be so damn stupid.

Within a few seconds, Brittany rounds the corner and stands in front of Santana, glaring down at her with fiery blue eyes. Brittany's never been frightening, and up until now, the thought that she could be aggressive and/or scary would've just made Santana chuckle. But staring up into burning cerulean orbs and feeling her body shrink under the glare, she second guesses herself. "Britt?"

"You're such a fucking hypocrite, Santana."

Santana's eyebrows meet her hairline, and she winces at hearing the blonde curse. It just sounds so foreign, so common, so dirty, rolling off Brittany's tongue with such ease. Swearing is definitely one of those things, along with being aggressive, that should be written down in the 'what doesn't suit Brittany' list. "Excuse me?"

"You," Brittany pokes Santana in the chest hard, "You ask what my problem is? We kiss…" Santana opens her mouth to say something, but Brittany pushes her forefinger against her lips to hush her. "No, I'm speaking. Anyway, we kiss," Her eyes dart around the street nervously. "And then you go and get married. And as soon as I say I'm going on one date, one tiny date, you get all high and mighty and paste the jealousy mask on?"

Santana clenches her jaw and looks away, no longer being able to stare into the accusing blue eyes glaring down at her. Brittany drops her finger from Santana's lips and steps away, crossing her arms and watching her expectantly.

"Brittany, I-"

"No." Brittany interjects. "You don't get a say in what I do, or who I do, for that matter. We're not teenagers anymore, Santana."

Santana continues to stare at the floor, and the various leaves blowing between their feet. It was a weekly routine when they were teenagers. Every Friday night, after a long week at school, they'd go to Brittany's house, stay up late underneath their newly formed blanket forts and discuss who they like, who they're crushing on and whether or not they would go all the way with them. That's where the whole 'if one doesn't like the other, they'd break up' thing came from.

It was stupid too assume that if Santana didn't like one of Brittany's boyfriends or girlfriends now, that Brittany would click and break up with them. Because they've grown up, they've both changed drastically. They're not two fifteen year olds bickering of Matt Rutherford, Brittany's first long-term boyfriend and the boy who took her virginity, with Santana showing her clear distaste for him. They're not going to end up crying, and then Brittany saying that she'd break up with him to make sure their friendship was intact. That's not how it's going to work anymore, and Santana is married. Even if since the first meeting, it's been fairly obvious that Brittany and Sophie weren't getting along swimmingly, or that they were going to spurt into close friends. Santana didn't do it for Brittany, so why should Brittany do it for her?

"Besides," Brittany lets out, "You said yourself he was a good guy."

Defeated, Santana sighs and lets her eyes fall shut. "I know."

"So, come on." Brittany turns away, throwing Santana a look over her shoulder. "Let's go somewhere Christmassy. It is Christmas Eve after all."

Reluctantly, Santana nods and trudges along with Brittany – unsure of what their previous conversation now holds for them.

 

25th December

It's Christmas Day.

Not only is it Christmas Day, it's 7am.

Not only is it Christmas Day, and 7am, but her mattress is being jigged around as her best friend jumps up and down like a little kid on… Well, on Christmas morning. Santana cracks open one eye groggily, scrunching her face and immediately wishing that she'd locked her bedroom door. Brittany's still on her knees, still bouncing erratically and still yelling "San! San! San!" - over and over again.

Santana lets out a heavy grunt, and manages to bite her tongue so a line of Spanish curses don't come out. The backs of her eyes ache and she rubs a hand over her face as turns and faces her best friend. "Britt, it's 7 in the morning." She says in a raspy voice.

"But it's Christmas." Brittany beams with energy no person should possess at this time in the morning. "And you need to get up."

"No." Santana retorts, childishly, rolling onto her other side and pulling the covers up to her chin so she's not facing Brittany. "I don't want to get out of bed."

"You have to."

"No, I don't."

"Yes." Brittany tugs on Santana's bicep, pulling her onto her back and holds her stare. "You do."

"No."

And then she stays silent. She squeezes her eyes shut, clamps her fingers around the sheet and holds tight, hoping Brittany will soon give up. The room is warm, and there's a lingering scent of pancakes flowing through the air. She has about zero interest in leaving the bedroom right now, because that'd mean dragging her ass out of bed, putting on some sweatpants and a hoody because the kitchen always seems to feel like the Antarctic in the morning and actually decide what they're going to do for the rest of the day.

So no, staying in bed and sleeping for another four hours seems like the better option.

The room's silent, apart from the sound of her and Brittany's breathing, and soon enough she gets curious and cracks her eye open. Brittany's sitting on her ankles, arms crossed and a judgemental expression on her face. It's only now that she takes note of the lack of Brittany's clothing - small pyjama shorts that could probably pass as underwear and a one size too small white wife beater, with her blonde hair wild around her shoulders. Brittany's always been a morning person, but it truly does stun Santana how someone can look this damn beautiful at this time in the morning.

"San…" Brittany warns, poking Santana's side. "Get up!"

Santana doesn't even open her eyes as she stretches her arms out and grabs Brittany's wrists after she pokes her a few more times. They both start giggling, half-curdling over and wrestling against each other. A quick tug and Brittany's half on top of her, squirming about as Santana playfully struggles with the blonde, both of them trying to gain control, but neither of them willing to surrender. Somewhere along the line, Brittany started straddling Santana, one leg either side of Santana's hips.

"Okay, okay." Santana breathes out, laughter tinging her tone. "I'll get up!"

Brittany stops squirming, and pushes against Santana's shoulders until she's sitting up, looking down at her best friend. Her cheeks are flushed pink, as well as her ears and there's a certain sparkle twinkling behind her bright blue eyes. Santana's hands release from Brittany's arms, slowly sliding down until they take refuge on the blonde's thighs. The room seems to blur away as Brittany reaches across Santana's body, and tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Unconsciously, she leans into the touch, and lets out a small sigh as Brittany's fingers linger a little longer than necessary on her cheekbone.

"Are you sure?" Brittany says, still trying to catch her breath.

Santana gulps and smiles brightly. "Yeah."

"Awesome."

Brittany rolls off Santana, jumping up and heading towards the door. She pauses, one hand gripping the door frame whilst she throws Santana a look over her shoulder and grins. "Five minutes, and I'll be back."

Santana groans and throws her head back against the pillow, "Fine."

And then Brittany disappears.

It takes about four and a half minutes for Santana to actually kick start her brain and work out how to use her body, since her mind is kind of malfunctioning due to a four hour sleep and the close encounter with a certain blonde. It's common knowledge, especially to Brittany, that she needs at least eight hours sleep or she'll barely be able to form sentences and start answering questions with a grunt. And in about thirty seconds, she knows Brittany's just going to come bouncing back in and start butchering her until she wakes up.

So reluctantly, she drags herself out of bed, and shrugs on a pair of Nike sweatpants and a t-shirt, (because it's lying next to the sweatpants and her hoody isn't, and if she wants a hoody then she'll have to put in more effort and just… No. Not happening) and makes her way towards the kitchen. Brittany comes into view, her back facing Santana and her ass in perfect view as she's bent over, searching one of the bottom cupboards for something.

Suddenly very awake, Santana manages to snap herself out of the head-tilt she's just found herself doing and takes a seat on one of the kitchen island stools. Brittany straightens up and grabs a mug from one of the cabinets and fills it from the pot of coffee, before sliding it across to Santana with an I knew you'd do what I wanted grin.

"You're up."

Santana groans and nods gratefully towards the mug of coffee. "Yeah, thanks to someone."

Brittany shrugs as she leans on her elbows and plays with the mug between her own hands, sipping tentatively. "Deal with it."

Santana shakes her head with a smile, and blows the steam off her coffee. "Seriously, what are we doing up at 7am? I know it's Christmas but seriously?"

"I've made pancakes." Brittany announces, placing her mug down and turning to a plate behind her. There are at least twenty or so pancakes on it, and Santana's mouth drops in awe.

"How long have you been up?" Santana asks, her eyes never moving from the stack of pancakes that seem to be moving in slow motion.

Brittany shrugs and slides the plate in front of her, along with two smaller plates and a small pot of maple syrup. She moves around the island, and slides onto the stool next to Santana before dishing out two pancakes onto each of the smaller plates. Santana takes one of the plates, and immediately drizzles a copious amount of maple syrup on them, before grabbing the fork beside her and tucking in.

"Oh my God." Santana moans, swallowing the mouthful of pancakes. "These are so good."

Brittany giggles next to her and cuts up her pancakes delicately. "If I didn't know any better I'd say Sophie never cooked for you."

"She doesn't," Santana admits, eyes still fixed on which piece of pancake she's going to eat next. "We barely actually eat together."

"Oh."

Santana turns to Brittany and raises both eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing." Brittany shakes her head and picks up her coffee, taking a slow sip. "Just glad I can give you something different."

Santana stops eating, half-way through her mouthful and gulps loudly. "Yeah. Thanks. These really are amazing."

"Alright, get a room. Jheeze." Brittany giggles and swats at Santana's bicep playfully.

Santana nudges her shoulder with her own. "Shut up. I could show these pancakes a good time."

"I bet you could."

All the blood drains out of Santana's face and she puts her fork down, slowly spinning on her stool to look at her best friend. Brittany remains unaffected by the movement and continues to sip on her coffee. That's like the third time Brittany's initiated flirting, and still, she doesn't seem to be even the tiniest bit moved by it. Brittany gets up; still ignoring the blatant stare Santana's giving her and grabs both of their plates and dumping them in the sink.

She turns momentarily, and winks at Santana as she says; "Come on, get dressed. We're going out." Before disappearing out the kitchen, just like she did in the bedroom.

Santana turns the corner, still babbling on about how children should be tied up at children when she finally realises where they're going.

"Uh, Britt? We're not going where I think we're going…" She pauses, and looks hopeful despite knowing there isn't actually anything else remotely interesting down this road. "…Are we?"

Brittany smiles weakly and stops at the stoop of one of the houses. She glances up quickly the stairs towards the front door, and then back down with an apologetic expression. "It's Christmas."

"Britt!" Santana half-yells, throwing her hands up in the air and feeling slightly pissed off at her best friend. "That's why I didn't want to see her."

"San," Brittany warns, stepping closer and grabbing both of Santana's hands from the air to bring them down between their bodies. "She's your mother."

"She's a bitch."

"We've already had this argument, San. We're here now so we're going in." Brittany lets go of one hand and grabs Santana's wrist, tugging her up the stoop and towards the front door.

Before Santana can object, Brittany's pressing the doorbell with her thumb in quick succession and standing back. There's a clatter and a small "I'm coming" from the other side of the door, and it doesn't come to her surprise that she doesn't recognise the voice, because the door is being pulled open by a black haired guy that can't be any older than Santana.

"Hello." The guy says, eyes scanning up and down Santana's body as he leans casually against the door.

Santana looks at Brittany from the corner of her eye. The guy's wearing an unbuttoned short sleeved plaid shirt with nothing underneath, revealing a steroid fuelled six pack, and a loose pair of sweatpants. Not exactly winter wear.

"Um, hi." Santana mumbles. Quickly, she brings her head back to look at the number hanging off the door. Yeah, this is the right house. So who the hell is this guy?

"Hi, I'm Brittany." Brittany steps forward and cranes her neck to peer over the guy's shoulder. "Is Maria in?"

The guy looks back and turns once more with a raised eyebrow. His dark eyes trail down Brittany's body, lingering a little too long over her legs and chest, before looking up and smirking directly at her and then to Santana. Fucking voyeuristic asshole. Santana has a right mind to kick him so hard he'll be able to taste his ba-

"Why do you want to know, beautiful?"

Brittany steps through the threshold, completely disregarding the random guy's comment and pauses in the foyer, beckoning Santana in. Of course, Santana obliges and stands next to her, snickering at the shocked expression the guy's giving Brittany.

"This is Maria's daughter. " Brittany cocks her head to the side, gesturing to Santana. "So is she or isn't she in?"

"Uh, yeah, she's in." He points down the hall towards the kitchen. "There."

Santana's about to object to being in this house again, mostly because as soon as she moved out she swore never to come back, when fingers thread through her own and tug her down the small hallway and into the kitchen. The house has always had this dingy, cold atmosphere - kind of like what a graveyard feels like if you walked in at the stroke of midnight on Halloween. Even when she was a child, Santana tried to spend as much of her time out of the house as possible. And if the Johnson's weren't renting Brittany's house a few doors down, and if the Pierce's were back in town, she'd definitely be sprinting there and locking herself in. It's what she used to do as a child.

"Maria?" Brittany calls. Santana stops in the doorway of the kitchen and let's go of Brittany's hand, taking in the dusty shelves and dirty plates stacked up in the sink. Apparently her mom's been spending too much time banging half of New York to even clean the damn dishes. Then again, now that her dad's fucked off, and stopped being her mom's doormat, she's not that surprised the house has gone to shit.

"Brittany?" A head of greying, dark hair bobs up from a wooden chair - sitting in the four foot area Maria insists is a garden – before being followed by a small silk dressing gown, that really can't be doing anything to keep her warm, and then a wrinkled, tanned face. A puff of smoke is blown out in a straight line as Maria grins, revealing surprising white teeth considering the good twenty years she's been smoking. "Brittany, is that you?"

Santana shuffles on her spot, feeling the sort of discomfort you'd get from walking into an asylum. Then again, she's walking into her childhood house – so it's kind of the same thing. Maria takes another long drag, before flicking it into the pure white snow blanketing the small garden and shivers, bouncing back in to reveal how short the dressing gown is. It's pretty disgusting, a fifty year old woman wearing the lack of clothing, especially when it's obviously evident what she's just been doing. Eurgh.

"Yes, Maria, it's Brittany." Brittany pauses and nudges Santana's shoulder. "Merry Christmas!"

Brittany looks to Santana with an expectant gaze, and when Santana crosses her arms defensively, she gets a firm nudge in the shoulder. "And Santana."

"Mija! Brittany!" Maria raises her arms up in the air with a welcoming gesture and walks towards the girl, after fixing her gown. "You two get more beautiful every time I see you." She coos as she wraps Brittany up in an embrace and holds her arm out for Santana. "Come on, Tana. Come say hola to your madre."

There are a million reasons why Santana doesn't want to give into the hug: the hate she feels for this woman, the disgust she feels for being in this house, the fact her mother's is generally a gold-digging pervy whore, the state of the house, that fucking nickname 'Tana' (that no matter how many times she's asked politely not to be called that – her mother still fucking does - kind of shows Maria's listening skills) and of course the fact that Maria's giving her one of those I know you're going to hug me eventually faces – which only makes her want to cling onto the counter, kick, scream and let loose the Spanish curses she's been mentally noting over the duration of her life.

But Brittany reaches back, without breaking away from the hug and yanks on Santana's wrist, pulling her forward until she's pushed up against her mother and Brittany. A strong arm, which she can tell is Brittany's, snakes around her waist and secures them together, so she can't get out. Typical Brittany, trying to be chummy with everyone.

After a few awkward seconds, Santana can't take the stench of sex, cigarettes and alcohol coming off her mother and manages to break loose of the hug, swiftly pulling Brittany away with her. Her mother doesn't seem fazed and moves around the kitchen towards the coffee machine, where she pours out three cups and slides two of them towards Santana and Brittany. It really fucks her off how casual her mother's acting, all homey and domestic, like she actually gives a crap about Santana.

Their family is still fucked up, a week hasn't changed that. Santana's father wasn't there at the wedding, the guy who's young enough to be Maria's son is still somewhere in the house, basking in the aftermath of cougar sex, and judging by the seven empty wine bottles Santana can see from the kitchen island, stacked up by the back door – her mother's still a borderline alcoholic at the tender age of fifty seven. It's disgusting.

And Christmas or not, it's not going to change that.

Two hours into the visit, Santana can't take anymore and she stands abruptly, the legs of the stool scraping against the kitchen tiles. Her face is flushed, the remains of the anger from listening to her mother bitch about her father, is still burning through her veins and it's pretty lucky she's made it this long without breaking. Then again, it could be for the pale hand gripping her thigh and squeezing reassuringly every now and then. That and the fact that with every squeeze, it seems to be moving higher and higher and all Santana can do is imagine what it'd feel like if she shuffled further down the stool.

That would just put the cherry on top of the fucking cake with Maria. Give her a piece of her own medicine and bang Brittany in front of her… It's not like Santana didn't walk in on her mother riding the plumber when she was fifteen – that was fucking fun to hide from her dad. Santana wouldn't do that. She wouldn't downgrade Brittany like that.

Wait, did she really just think about having sex with Brittany?

"Tana?" Maria says, innocently, sipping on the last of her fifth cup of coffee. Not surprising really, she probably needs it after her night of slutty sex with another man she barely knows. "Where are you going?"

Santana's eyes dart towards Brittany. "We've got lunch plans."

"Sa-"

"No." Santana cuts Brittany off and grips her bicep. "We've got to go."

Brittany smiles at Maria apologetically and leans in to kiss her cheek, before heading off towards the hall to get their coats. Santana knows this is Brittany's attempt at trying to get her and her mom to talk, and she kind of hates her for it – especially because Maria's now scooted across a seat and is patting Santana's forearm in what she supposes is supposed to feel like a motherly gesture.

"Mija, I haven't seen you in a while. You should come round more often."

Santana clenches her jaw, ignoring the bile rising in her throat at her mother's touch. "You saw me at my wedding."

"I mean outside of events, Tana."

There it is again - that fucking nickname. "I told you not to call me that, Maria."

"I am your mother, mija. I'll call you whatever I see fit. And you will not call me Maria. I'm your mami."

She doesn't know whether it's the slightly aggressive tone her mother's using, the continuous patting on her arm, the fact that Maria's just called herself a mother, or a combination of the three – but she yanks her arm out and clenches her fists tightly, seeing red flash in front of her eyes. "Then why don't you fucking act like one."

Maria jerks her head back, like Santana's word physically slapped her. Her dull brown are glossy with tears, but Santana finds it hard to feel bad for a woman that told her time and time again that she's a piece of shit and it's a sin for her kind to exist. Even to this day, Santana doesn't know whether that refers to the extra appendage she has, or that she's gay. Truthfully, though, she doesn't care enough to ask – Maria's never been a mother to her.

"It's Christmas. Be a friendly female for once." Maria demands, crossing one leg over the other and shrugging like she doesn't care how she's acting, that's probably because she doesn't. "Then again, it's quite a lot for you to be a woman."

There are so many things Santana wants to say to her mother; most of them containing words that even she's surprised are in her vocabulary since she knows that was definitely a penis dig. But then she takes in a deep breath and really takes in a good look at her mother, and looks down to the ground. The air spikes and she knows Brittany's just walked in on the comment, and suddenly something sparks inside of her, and she has the confidence to say what she's always wanted too.

"There are so many things I could say to you right now, Maria. Like how you're a cheap, useless slut and you live off benefits whilst fucking any guy that's drunk or naïve enough to sleep with you. But, in all honesty, I feel sorry for you."

Santana pauses, trying to find the right words to voice her opinion whilst her mother's face falls from the smirk and she sinks back into the chair – which only spurs Santana on more. The spark igniting into a verbal flame which she hurls out like word vomit;

"Antonio doesn't speak to you anymore. Dad was wise enough to get his ass out of this shit hole before you could do him anymore damage. You insult me – the last living relative that doesn't ignore your existence – every damn time we see each other," She uses her hands for emphasis and sees the small, proud smile Brittany gives her which makes her stomach flip. "And the only thing you have that's consistent in your life, is the thrill of one night stands that within a year, is going to disappear - just like the ability to cover up your thousands of wrinkles with the make-up you shovel onto your face every damn morning. Don't for a second think that he," Santana points towards the front of the house, where she assumes that douche from earlier is, "Is going to stick around. Because we both know as soon as you start your knitting and settle down for an episode of Father Knows Best, he'll be out the door faster than you can say Robert Young."

Santana takes in a long, deep breath and steps towards Brittany, taking the bag in her hand and her coat with the other. "It's pathetic, mother." She moves forward, throwing the bag containing that damn vase she bought and turns away again. "So Merry fucking Christmas, because that's the last time you'll ever hear that from me."

Just as she reaches the door, with Brittany in toe, the dark haired guy steps out the living room, noodle hanging out the side of his grinning mouth and carton in hand. "You off already?" He mumbles through a mouthful.

Santana scoffs at him and grabs his shoulder, leaning in until her lips are hovering over his ear. "She's fifty seven."

There's a huge amount of satisfaction that surges through her, when she pulls back and sees him drop the cartoon, noodles spilling all over the floor with his mouth open so wide at least four tennis balls could fit in there. With a final smirk at her mother, she grabs Brittany's hand and tugs her out the house, back into the streets of New York City.

"Two orders of the cheeseburger and fries, a caramel milkshake for Brittany and a vanilla for me." Santana hands back over the menus to the old, greying waitress and smiles. "Thanks."

They're sitting in a booth in the far corner, down on 14th Street after a silent walk from Maria's house. It's not exactly very Christmas-y, but Brittany was hungry and insisted on getting a cheeseburger when they were heading towards the Lopez household, and so instead of asking again, they just headed there.

"I'm sorry." Brittany whispers, sliding her fingers through Santana's.

"You have no need to be sorry," Santana sighs and rubs her thumb over the back of Brittany's knuckles. "It was going to happen at some point."

Admittedly, it would have happened at some point, and in some ways, Santana see why she could be pissed at Brittany and how the whole meeting potentially could've ruined her Christmas, but she isn't pissed. She can't be pissed. It's not like she's physically incapable, because, yeah, Santana has been angry with Brittany in that past – but it's something near to being incapable. Like her emotions take over and any trace of anger dissolves, possibly like Santana's the flame and Brittany's the water.

Then again, that's not just applicable to their relationship. In high school, several times, Brittany had to hold Santana back, grasp her biceps and make sure she didn't kick Azimio's ass for making another homophobic comment. Several times, Brittany had to wrap her weirdly strong arms around Santana's waist, lean in close to her ear, so that her lips were ghosting over the shell and whisper calm down.

Of course, those two little words, as long as they only came from Brittany, would immediately send a wave of calm crashing down on Santana's body. And what bothered, and still bothers Santana to this day, is that if she wanted to be pissed with Brittany for holding her back, her brain just releases a repeat of those words and she's calm again. Brittany's always been like that with Santana, she's been the calmer half of the friendship, the more rational, cheerier half.

The better half.

So that kind of explains why Santana's now sitting here, smiling goofily at her best friend from across the table – whilst the waitress stands next to them, holding something above their heads.

"Uh," Brittany retracts her hand and blushes as she ducks her head, removing all eye contact from Santana. Just before she ducked though, Santana could've sworn she saw a sparkle behind the blonde's bright blue eyes. She frowns, completely dumbfounded, what the hell is going on?

But then she looks up. "Oh."

"Come on; give your girl a kiss." The waitress grins, one hand dangling a single piece of mistletoe between them, and the other toying with the waistband of her apron. "It's Christmas after all."

Santana giggles, and Brittany whips her head up with an incredulous expression – her eyes wide and surprised. There's a twinkle in her eye though, and Santana's stomach flips. God, the things her best friend does to her.

The older woman smiles brightly. "It's Mistletoe hour, and you two are the lucky winners."

Santana slyly grins, eyes darting to Brittany. "And what do we win?"

"You mean apart from kissing this beautiful lady here?" The waitress gestures to Brittany, whose ears and cheeks tinge dark pink. She then continues. "You win two free meals."

The situation should probably feel incredibly awkward, but she doesn't pay much attention to it and instead focuses on Brittany's reaction. The blonde is worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, nervously – but there's still that little something etching its way onto her face. Whatever Santana does next, will either make her Christmas (due to the free meal, obviously), or ruin it. Before she can over think it, because she knows she will, she smirks. Fuck it. It is Christmas after all.

"Well?" Santana grins at Brittany with dark eyes. She doesn't need a mirror to know just how she looks right now, it's how she used to get girlfriends pre-Sophie. "What do you think, Britt?"

Brittany looks up, smiling softly as she twiddles one thumb around the other, above the table. She then glances towards the waitress. "For two free meals?"

The waitress nods, and immediately, the soft smile spreads into a wide grin, revealing Brittany's brilliantly white teeth. "If it's for Christmas…"

Santana doesn't let Brittany continues her sentence, she's already taken it as an acceptance. Her body's leaning across the small width of the table, whilst her hand is sliding up Brittany's arm, curling around the nape of her neck and guiding their mouths together. She pauses as soon as their lips are a centimetre away from each other, and takes in a deep breath, settling her adrenaline fuelled nerves.

Carefully, and when she's restarted her brain and gained a tad more confidence, Santana leans in a brushes her mouth against Brittany's, almost as if they don't touch at all. She pulls back again, and looks into certain, blue eyes. "Was that okay?" She whispers against Brittany's lips, blushing furiously.

"Darling's, that was only worth one meal." Santana hears coming from beside them. Without pulling back, her eyes flicker to the side where the waitress is still standing, holding the mistletoe above with a huge, sappy grin pasted on her face, shaking the branch gently.

When she turns back, Brittany's eyes bore into her, and for a moment she thinks she can actually feel herself getting lost into those blue oceans, swimmingly carelessly in the pool of those beautiful eyes. She barely has enough time to let her eyes flutter closed before Brittany's kissing her again, taking Santana's bottom lip between her own and sucks gently. Her heart's pounding steadily in her chest, her mind swimming with the flavour of her best friend as Brittany's tongue does a quick, yet incredibly soft sweep with her tongue along Santana's bottom lip.

By the time Brittany pulls away, Santana's still lingering in the middle of the table; eyes still shut and mind still swarming with inappropriate thoughts of Brittany. She almost forgets that they're in a diner, on Christmas day, with her practically cheating on her wife and that it's only for two free meals.

"Not so sure that was worth two free meals." Brittany winks, the bottom of the mistletoe spinning between her thumb and forefinger.

Santana giggles and reaches across to play with the top of the mistletoe. "Shut up, you."

Because no. That definitely wasn't worth two free meals. It was worth a hell of a lot more.

Santana brings the buzzing phone to her ear. "Hi, this is Brittany's phone."

"Oh, hi. Is Brittany there?"

Santana narrows her eyes, and plays with the empty milkshake glass. About thirty seconds ago, Brittany nicked one of Santana's fries and skipped off to the toilet with another wink. There's been a little tension since their mistletoe kiss, and she wants to bring it up – but she doesn't know how. All they've been doing since the kiss is flirting shamelessly, brushing each other's arms like they're both single and that everything's a-o-fucking-kaybetween them – despite the ring on Santana's finger.

"Not at the moment. Who's calling?"

"It's Mike."

Her jaw clenches and she swallows against the venom trickling down her throat. "It's Santana."

"Hey, Santana! It's Mike Chang here!"

Damn. She forgot how nice of a guy he is. "Hey, Mike." She replies, feeling the need to yell at this innocent man drain away as Brittany comes back into view, exiting the toilet.

"How's it going? How's Sophie?"

Brittany slides back into the seat, and looks at her quizzically. When the question finally processes Santana frowns. She hasn't actually heard from Sophie since she left for her work thing.

"Yeah, Sophie's good." Santana lies anyway, avoiding Brittany's blue eyes as she feels the atmosphere sink. Fuck.

"Good, good. Can you tell Brittany to give me a call?"

Santana opens her mouth to make a sarcastic comment about why he can't just talk to her at work, but Brittany reaches over and snatches the phone from Santana, not meeting the expectant brown eyes as she brings it to her ear. Santana's hands are still up by her ear, where the phone was cradled about two seconds ago, hovering uselessly as she feels something she can only make out to be, regret?

"Hey, Mike. It's Britt." Santana hears her say, and she thinks there's a definite sadness lacing her voice. Her fingers clench around the milkshake glass as she keeps one ear on Brittany's conversation and her eyes locked on the cars passing the diner just outside the window. The back of her throat is burning with the taste of acidic jealousy and she squeezes her eyes shut against it.

"Aw, Mike, you're so sweet."

Santana can imagine the cute, fluffy shit that's coming out of Mike's mouth and she bites down, catching her cheek in the process. If it wasn't for the intense anger she's focusing on supressing, she'd probably be whimpering at the shooting pain forming on the inside of her mouth.

"Mike, stop it." Brittany says flirtatiously, twirling a lock of blonde hair between her fingers.

Not wanting to hear anymore, Santana grimaces and jerks up from the table, catching her knee in the process on the lip of it. Damn, anger really does lead to violence. Without looking back, she stalks over to the waitress with her upper lip half snarled, and slaps down a few dollars on the table as a tip – since half-way over to the cashier, she remembered they had a free meal. Shit. Not knowing what else to do, since the waitress took the tip with a scared smile, Santana heads back to the booth, hands shoved deep into her jean pockets.

"You mean now? Um, I'm actually out at the moment." Santana can feel blue eyes studying her facial features as she sits back down, scooting as far away from Brittany as she can without moving to another table. She looks out the window with no interest at all for whatever's going on outside. "I'm at the diner down on 14th street."

There's a police man chasing down a teenager, just in front of the diner, and a few spectators moving out the way to watch the chase – but her eyes are fuzzy and she can't focus on it. All she can think about is watching Brittany walk down the same road, Mike holding her hand and giggling together before he brings her in for a kiss. All the things Santana wants to … no - all the things Santana doesn't want to see her best friend do.Obviously.

"You want to join us?" Brittany's voice goes soft and she looks up to stare at Santana. "Well as long as that's okay with Santana."

That's what does it, and before she can gain control of her legs, they're leading her out of the diner and down the street. It's far too late to go back and explain to Brittany why the hell she just walked out, and in some ways that's a good thing – because only God knows what she'd say.

Within what feels like a minute, she's at her door, digging out the key and shoving it forcefully into the lock, twisting the door open and kicking it shut with the heel of her Converse as she steps inside. She yanks off her coat, throws it somewhere in the room and practically leaps over the back of the sofa to lie on it, arms covering her face.

Merry fucking Christmas.


	9. Chapter Nine

The apartment is cold and empty, and Santana's still lying on the sofa with her arm thrown over her head. She has absolutely no idea what she's going to say when Brittany walks in. What the hell is she supposed to say? The lock on the door clicks. Well, she's about to find out.

"Santana?"

Santana doesn't answer Brittany's call; instead buries her nose in further to the crook of her elbow, hoping to feign being asleep, or possibly dead – that's how much she doesn't want to explain her actions. Her eyes are cracked open slightly at the corner, so she can see Brittany gliding across the apartment, placing her keys and jacket down so domestically. Santana inwardly groans - sometimes she wishes she hadn't let Brittany stay here for Christmas – it seems so normal to live in the same apartment as the blonde. And not in the just roommates way, either.

There's a dip beside her right hip, and seconds later cool fingers wrap around her wrist, the one covering her face. "San," Brittany whispers, and Santana can tell just how close the blonde is by the hot breath hitting her cheek, "San."

Grudgingly, she allows the arm to be taken away, and seconds later she's staring up at her best friend who's now moved back so there's a reasonable distance between them. Santana brings her arms down beside her bother, propping herself up onto her elbows and ducks her chin to her chest, eyes focusing on the sparkling lights decorating the Christmas tree at the end of the sofa.

Brittany flashes a small smile, "Hi," she says quietly, her eyes searching Santana's.

Santana pauses, curious to why Brittany's not angry or asking questions. "Hi," she repeats, slowly.

"Are you alright?" Brittany shuffles further into the sofa, pushing Santana's left side into the back of it. Considering she walked out on Brittany, whilst Brittany was in mid-conversation, and stormed off like she was a teenager again, actively rebelling against something she didn't like – this is a pretty odd reaction to have. Shouldn't Brittany be like shouting, screaming and demanding answers?

"Aren't you mad?" Santana ignores Brittany's question. She's too curious. "I stormed out."

Brittany shrugs. "I know," she reaches over and brushes a lock of Santana's hair behind her ear. "But I'm not mad."

Santana drops back to the sofa, until her head hits the cushions. Her palms come up to her face and the heels of them dig into her eyes, trying to rub out the frustration. In some ways she wants Brittany to be mad at her; she wants Brittany to demand answers – even if she doesn't have a clue what she'd respond.

"Why?" Santana spits out, a little sharper than intended. "Why aren't you mad?"

"Why should I be?"

Santana snorts and shakes her head. The way Brittany's being so damn non-chalant about her reaction is really starting to bug her. If it were reversed, she'd be questioning left, right and centre. She can feel the eyes looking at her carefully and tries not to focus on how nervous it's making her as she pushes her palms further into her face, in attempt to stop the shaking. Pale fingers trace their way down the back of her hand, down to her wrist and then down an invisible line on her forearm – she guesses it's supposed to be comforting or whatever, but it's not, the touch is just like a burning hot pan. Except it's a comfortable sensation. It's complicated.

"Is there a reason?" Brittany continues, pausing as she restarts tracing over the invisible line in a loop, "That I should be mad?" Her voice is so calm and innocent that it actually spurs a shot of anger that pulses through Santana's body.

"Yes!" Santana yells and lurches forward, swinging her legs off the edge and pushing Brittany to the far end of the sofa. Within seconds she's up, forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of her nose whilst the other hand is cocked on her hip. "Doesn't it bother you that I just walked out?" Her voice is unnecessarily loud, but she can't bring herself to lessen the volume - probably because of the anger pulsing through her veins.

Brittany crosses her arms. "Well I don't know why you did it, so…"

"So, what?" Santana spins around, one hand hovering in mid-air. "If you don't know something you just don't ask?"

"I didn't think you'd want to talk to about it," Brittany says meekly. "In case it'd piss you off."

Santana knows that technically, Brittany does actually have a reasonable point. Brittany knows her, better than she knows herself, and usually if something like that'd happened – she wouldn't want to talk about it. God knows Brittany's asked enough times throughout their friendship, and has just been answered with a sharp tongue and violent words.

So Santana thinks that maybe she's being unreasonable, and tries to force herself to calm down by closing her eyes. "Just… Are you not in the tiny bit curious?"

Brittany's eyes dart to the floor, and Santana opens her eyes just in time to see her best friend's about two seconds away from crying. "Of course I am."

"Then ask!" Her voice is loud again. "Just ask me why I walked out!"

"I can't."

"Why?"

Brittany ducks her head. "I just can't, okay?"

"Bullshit." Santana says, firmly, throwing her hands down and moving next to Brittany - who she's now towering over. "You can ask me you just don't want too, it's like you're-"

Blue eyes snap up. "Like I'm what? Scared?"

Santana gulps and sees the knowing glint in her best friend's eyes. "Yeah," she manages to let out through a shaky nod.

"Well you would know all about that, wouldn't you?" It's not a question, it's more like a snarky comment that just seems to reek sarcasm, and it takes Santana aback. She's not used to seeing Brittany like this, hell she's not used to seeing Brittany with anything but a grin on her face and rainbows and unicorns flying above her head. So sassy, snappy Brittany comes as a bit of a shock.

"What?" Santana asks, already knowing the answer but needing clarification.

It seems that there's something Brittany wants to say, like really wants to say. Santana's known Brittany well enough to know that when Brittany narrows her eyes, clenches her jaw twice and then swallows audibly – that she's holding something in. And usually that something isn't good.

"Nothing," Brittany lets out in a defeated tone, obviously opting out of what she wanted to say. She shakes her head before rising from the sofa and heading towards the kitchen. At the doorway, she pauses and turns her head so Santana can see her profile. "I'm getting a drink, want anything?"

Santana scrunches her brows together, and stares incredulously at her best friend. She can't actually believe that Brittany's going to leave it like that, that Brittany assumes that saying 'nothing' will instantly switch everything back and that she'll go back to normal. But that's how their friendships always worked, that's they've always done when things have got tough – they just passed it and never looked back. Even though she doesn't want too, she knows that this fight, or argument, or whatever the hell it is, is ultimately going to be pointless.

So she exhales heavily, throws herself down on the sofa and says; "No, I'm good."

And then Brittany disappears out the door.

It's around two hours later, when Brittany and Santana are sitting down on the sofa, both at one end and munching on the variety of different snacks they have between them. Neither wanted to cook Christmas dinner, and truthfully, Santana never really liked turkey and Brittany never liked vegetables, so there wasn't really any point in spending hours upon hours slaving over an oven full of food neither were going to enjoy all that much. They hadn't talked about Santana's sudden walk out, and for the first ten minutes there had been a little tension – but as always, they'd pushed it aside and started acting like teenagers, munching on nacho's and watching Charlie Brown's Christmas Tales on repeat.

Santana's munching away on a chip when she stops and turns to Brittany, laughing animatedly at something on the TV. She can't fight the grin that crawls across her face and she finds herself tilting her head to the side. Those sparkling blue eyes, that creamy skin, that crease in her eyebrows and those perfect pink lips… Damn, Brittany really is drop dead gorgeous.

"San?"

Santana shakes herself out of her 'Brittany daze' and looks at her best friend with confused, wide eyes. "Sorry?"

"Do I have something on my face?" Brittany flashes a smile and raises an eyebrow.

Santana pauses and squints. Instead of admitting that she was just marvelling at Brittany's perfect and coming out with something cheesy in response like 'yeah, you've got beautiful all over it' - she's forced to think on her feet. "Uh, sure."

Brittany pinches her lips up at one side and crosses her eyes down, as if she's trying to search her own face for the imaginary smudge. "Where?" She asks, rubbing the back of her hand on her cheeks, forehead and then nose, kind of like a confused dog that runs around chasing it's tail. The words fucking and adorable come into mind as Santana smiles goofily at her best friend, who's scrunching her face up in confusion and swiping at a perfectly clean face.

Just to back up her lie, Santana leans across the food, making sure not to lean into the open cheese dip and brings her hand up to her best friend's face. Before she even gets to touch that pale, glowing skin, she flinches at the zap that shoots through her fingertips and fizzles up her arm. Her eyes flicker up towards Brittany who's features at expressionless, but her eyes are shouting volumes. Santana gulps audibly. Apparently she wasn't the only one to feel the spark.

It's like some cliché in a romantic movie, where they both slowly lift their heads and look deeply into each other's eyes. They both simultaneously become aware of how close their faces are, how their breaths are twisting together and how they're both caught in some trance that neither can or want to pull out of – even if there's so many factors why they should at least try.

There had been many times during Santana's life where she knew she shouldn't be doing things. Like the time her and Brittany were invited to Cathy Johnson's house party. Maria had obviously said no, and that Santana should stay in her room for the entire night, but being Santana, and having the knowledge it would piss her mother off even more, she text Brittany and within half an hour she was sneaking out, along with two bottles of her mom's vodka. Or even the time when she and Brittany told Mrs. Pierce they would be down at Chuck E. Cheese, when really they were smoking a cheeky blunt down the alley two streets away. Whenever she did something wrong, or was doing something wrong – she always had this tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach, guilt and future regret, that seemed to crawl its way up her throat until she stopped.

And despite knowing that this right here is definitely supposed to be one of those moments, she's feeling no guilt, no pangs strumming at her stomach like a guitar string, nothing. Sure, she could put it down to the fact that they've already been in this position twice, within the span of two weeks at that, but something's telling her it's not that.

"What are we doing?" Brittany breathes, her eyes darting between each of Santana's, trying to search for an answer that she doesn't even know.

Santana gulps, leans her hand into Brittany's face and cups her cheek. Just enjoying the way her best friend leans into the touch and how her chest is rapidly increasingly it's breathing motions. "I don't know." She answers honestly, yet she's showing no signs of pulling away.

"It's just Christmas," Brittany lets out, breathlessly. "We're both alone, and it's getting the better of us."

Santana nods in agreement, her eyes flickering down to Brittany's lips as her heart ten folds its beat. "Definitely," she says, her face inching closer in as a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Just what Christmas does?"

Brittany hums in approval, licking her lips and alternating her eyesight from Santana's lips to her eyes. Santana's so close that she can feel as the air dampens from the moisture and she has to force back the moan that's preparing to roll off her tongue.

"Yeah, we're just confused due to unresolved Christmas feelings." Brittany murmurs, still not bringing their lips together, even when their noses are brushing lightly against one another.

Santana grins, but doesn't break the moment. "Unresolved Christmas feelings?" She smirks, eyes filled with laughter. "Is that even possible?"

"Well," Brittany lets out, exhaling deeply and sending her mind-swimmingly sweet breath across Santana's lips. "Anything's possible if you want it to be."

Surprisingly, it doesn't shock Santana to hear the underlying meaning behind Brittany's words. She knows anything's possible, mostly because when she's with Brittany – that's just how she feels, like she can do anything.

"Maybe we should…" Brittany trails off, her eyes darting down to Santana's lips.

Santana narrows her eyes and sweeps her tongue along her bottom lip. "Maybe we should what?"

Brittany gulps audibly, and hesitates as the clogs start turning in her mind. Santana doesn't need to ask to recognise Brittany thinking when she sees it - the small crease in between light eyebrows, the way a perfect set of teeth come out to take a set of perfect, pink lips between them as blue eyes cloud over with millions of thoughts – that's what tells Santana. And then just like that, the decision clicks inside Brittany's brain and she clears her throat, before pulling away from their trance.

Disappointment surges through Santana's body, and she feels it fizzle at the end of her fingertips as it battles against her deepest urges. Her head's shouting at her not to do what she's thinking, but every other part of her is moving her forward, following Brittany's retreating body as the urge takes over. She's clearly losing the battle for dominance over her urges, and knowing it's like her trying to hold up a falling tree, it's pointless. So instead of fighting the inevitable, Santana gives in.

She leans in, one hand sliding up to cup Brittany's cheek as her lips moving forward to catch perfect pink lips between her own. As soon as the connection is made, Brittany stills, shocked by the movement and Santana almost pulls back, fearing that she's gone too far. But as always, Brittany surprises her and she instantly smiles into the kiss, feeling Brittany's lips move around her own. This kiss, damn, it's so good that Santana has to reboot her brain to make sure it's actually happening, and when she opens her eyes to see if it's all just a wonderful dream – she finds Brittany's face in close proximity of her own, eyes shut and lips still moving against her own. Hell, that's enough to convince Santana – so she returns to the matter at hand.

She remembers Brittany's kisses too well. That night, the one before her wedding, she remembers every single kiss. The initial exploration; the frantic, almost manic kisses of need and lust, mixed with searching and questioning ones that just made Santana's heart want to jump out her chest. But then she smiles, remembering what those manic kisses had transformed into. The last, long, slow, almost painfully luxurious kisses that almost made Santana want to faint or die from happiness. Those kisses… The ones that left her aching for more. For more of Brittany's touch, for more of Brittany's smell and taste. Damn, just for more of Brittany.

Those ones that right now, she's thinking about, and better yet, the same ones she's receiving.

Santana pulls back and continues to smile at the memories flashing behind her eyelids. She blinks, breathing in deeply and gulps before opening her eyes to reveal the blonde, still there, inches away, looking back at her with big, beautiful, blue eyes. Brittany's lips are still open, her breath still on Santana's lips. In some ways, Santana can't believe she's just kissed her best friend, whilst she's married. In some ways, she can't believe that that kiss just practically blew her mind, and every other kiss straight out the water.

She doesn't know what possesses her, but when they break apart, she leans in, meeting Brittany's lips again, and again, allowing their lips only the smallest of touches because they just feel so damn good. It's like she's still trying to convince herself that this is actually happening – even though she knows it is. Brittany reaches her hand out, cupping Santana's cheek and rubs her thumb gently over a tanned cheek whilst their lips keep brushing against each other softly. She leans forward and suddenly Brittany's legs are either side of her hips as she settles on top of her best friend – her whole body pressing against Brittany's, where it clicks together like a damn puzzle piece.

"Uh, San," Brittany murmurs into Santana's lips. Santana breaks away, looking quizzically at her best friend with what she knows is a flushed expression. "You're in the dip."

Brittany giggles and Santana groans and shuffles, feeling something jut into her stomach. She looks down quickly, seeing the plastic container with cheese tipping dangerously, threatening to spill onto the sofa with all its cheesy goodness. Fitting, she thinks.

"Shit." Santana whispers, panting heavily as she pushes off Brittany, removing herself from between her best friend's legs and hastily pushes the packet of nacho's and tub of cheese dip off the sofa – with no regard for where they fall, or for the fact that she's definitely going to have to clean that shit off the floor.

Santana looks back down at Brittany, still in the same position with her legs spread open and eyes wide and sparkling. It almost takes Santana's breath away as she smiles down at her best friend, and then leans back in – arching her body into Brittany's to feel them click once more. Her palms press into the spaces beside Brittany's head as their faces inches closer together, and she holds back the moan as the heavenly scent of her best friend invades her lungs once more.

"That was some good cheese dip." She whispers, feigning sadness and pinching her lips together mockingly.

Brittany bites her lips through a smile and shrugs. "You can buy some more."

Unblinking, and grinning, they both lean forward again, their lips meeting once more in another, short, simple kiss. Santana slides her hand down Brittany's body, grazing over the fabric until she takes purchase at the other woman's hip, where her thumb immediately starts to rub invisible circles over the protruding hipbone. She feels Brittany's grip tighten on the nape of her neck, and it only enhances the buzzing underneath her fingertips as she skims up and down Brittany's sides. Quickly, she breaks apart and breathes in deeply, letting all her inhibitions go as she leans back in, instantly reconnecting their lips and flicks her tongue against Brittany's lips again, silently requesting entrance. For a second, her whole body freezes. Shit, did she go too far?

But then she hears a sudden intake of breath, and a moan as Brittany's lips part, greeting Santana's awaiting tongue. Fuck, Brittany still tastes incredible. Better than Santana remembers, like something in between the sweetness of Dairy Queen's fresh strawberry ice-cream and the subtle tang of a freshly brewed coffee. Brittany's lips are still exactly as soft as they were the first time, which seems like years ago right now, but it's like an enhanced moment, which makes everything seem so much better than the mere memories. Their tongues meet hesitantly, gently stroking and massaging each other with intense care, and as a wash of Brittany's unbelievably sweet breath glides into Santana's mouth – she almost collapses.

Santana's not sure how long they've been kissing for, but the touches are becoming harder, like both of them were gaining more confidence as hands cup cheeks, fingers skim underneath tops, grazing ribs and moans start erupting from left, right and centre.. She needs more than a kiss, she can feel it burning underneath her palms, and growing against her boxers, but she doesn't want to give in.

"San," Brittany says, breathlessly against Santana's lips, as Santana parts and presses gentle kisses down her cheek, jawline and then onto her neck. "Fuck."

Santana can hear the hesitation and indecision, and the thudding underneath her own chest just confirms what she thought – that Brittany's just as unsure as she is. So with no further ado, and with the equivalent of liquid courage, but the liquid being Brittany, she shuffles until one of Brittany's thighs are parting her legs, and moves her hand from its place on the blondes ribs down to the waistband of her leggings.

"Britt," her panting has increased against the side of Brittany's neck, and she can feel the sheer desire hovering in the air around them, thickening it and making it harder to breathe – like it isn't already hard to breathe. "I…" She tries to finish her sentence but she can't, one of them, she's not sure who, has started to rock and Brittany's thigh is now brushing up and down the bulge growing in her pants.

Slowly, but surely, Santana rolls her hips to make her erection press firmly against Brittany's thigh, her tongue stroking in time to each of her hip movements. This time, Santana knows the moan comes from Brittany because she pulls back just in time, bringing one hand up to push a lock of hair behind the blonde's ear as her thigh pushes up to meet heated fabric – earning that heavenly moan. Their eyes lock, and Santana inhales sharply as she catches the state of her best friend beneath her. Brittany's hair is tousled, her eyes dark and hooded and there's a pink tint to her creamy cheeks.

Fingers glide across Santana's ribs, and then down to the waistband at her hips, and this time, Santana doesn't hesitate as she leans back in to crush her lips back to Brittany's. Delicately, she traces her fingers down the lines of muscles in Brittany's neck, over her collarbones, pausing to brush at the valley of Brittany's breasts and then moving upwards again. Once oxygen becomes a necessity, Santana begins her assault down Brittany's neck, marvelling at the sheer silkiness of the skin, and sucking lightly at the pulse point throbbing beneath her lips.

"San, I need…" Brittany's voice is an octave lower than it was a few minutes ago, and a jolt of electricity shoots around Santana's body until it bottoms out in the deep pits of her stomach. The arousal within in her ten folds and she grunts, taking an earlobe between her teeth.

About two seconds later, she feels Brittany's slender fingers slide further around her waist, one finger dipping into the waistband until she comes to the buttons. Santana's muscles twitch as their skin come in contact with each other, the blonde brushing underneath her top as she fumbles undoes the buttons and then the zip at a glacial pace. The sound seems to echo around the room, and as it disappears, Santana's suddenly incredibly aware of how loud Brittany's heart is pounding, how loud her own heart is pounding, and how their ragged breaths are coming out in matched pants.

"Hmmm," Santana hums and runs her tongue up the expanse of Brittany's neck whilst the blonde's hand reaches into her jeans and rubs her ever-hardening member through the fabric of her boxers. Damn, if anyone had said a year ago this would be happening, Santana would've laughed in their faces and used the same old 'we're just friends' thing.

It seems the need to speak has long gone, because Santana moves her hands from the waistband of Brittany's leggings, up to Brittany's chest where she creates feathery lines, pausing momentarily to rub her thumb over nipples that are so hard she can feel them through the fabric. Holy fuck. The knot in her stomach tightens considerably so, and it feels like every nerve inside her body is sparking and sizzling with anticipation as Brittany's hand, cupping her hardened member, moves in slow but equally arousing circles.

She leans up, propping herself on her forearms as she looks deeply into Brittany's eyes, trying not to give into the urge to grab the blondes hands and shove it into her boxers. It's like there's a silent conversation going on, well, Santana thinks that anyway, because she leans in, pressing her lips to Brittany's softly in a silent acceptance as the hand rubbing her, flicks at the waistband of her boxers. Slowly, Brittany slides her hand inside, twisting her arm at what looks like an awkward angle, and inhales sharply as their heated skin touches each other.

"Jesus," Brittany breathes into Santana's lips. A wave of smugness surges through Santana, she doesn't need Brittany to say the words to know she's impressed by her size. "You're so big." Okay, hearing the words just made her double in size.

Santana jerks into Brittany, half-thrusting her cock into the waiting hand and squeezes her eyes shut. Hearing Brittany say shit like that is like music to her ears. She's pretty sure in about two seconds she's going to come, since Brittany's fingers feel like delicate feathers moving up and down her shaft at a teasingly slow pace, lingering at the sensitive head.

"Fuck," Santana hisses, dropping her head to Brittany's shoulders, gently rolling her hips into every stroke.

Lips press against the side of her neck, and the combination of both literally makes her bite her lip with anticipation. The impending release is inevitable, but she needs to prolong it. It feels like she's bigger than she's ever been, seeing as her jeans seem to be shrinking and the boxers, that usually confines and hide her bulge, are squeezing against her.

Knowing she's probably not going to last that much longer, she lifts her head again, pressing their foreheads together as her she slides up palm up Brittany's top, lifting it slightly and relishing in the feel of toned abs twitching underneath her touch. The pure silkiness of her skin makes an embarrassingly loud moan come out, and she closes her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that now she's pretty embarrassed.

But then Brittany brings her other hand up to cup Santana's neck, whilst the one working on her member quickens it's pace, gripping slightly harder and moving up and down, her thumb flicking the head of Santana's cock with each stroke. Santana opens her eyes slowly, panting heavily and trying to ignore the way her head is spinning as she presses their lips back together in a sloppy kiss, neither caring for the lack of precision and accuracy they'd been using before.

When they part, Santana gulps, feeling strangely nervous as her the hand palming Brittany's stomach slides down, dipping underneath the blondes leggings and pressing onto the damp fabric of her panties. Santana's been with her fair share of girls, not in the slutty way, but enough to say that she's never felt someone be so ready for her. And the fact that it's Brittany just makes her hips rock harder into her hand.

"Can I…" Santana groans, lightly tracing her ring and index finger up the centre of Brittany's, earning an insatiable moan.

Brittany bites on her bottom lip, her eyes squeezing shut as her strokes increase in pace, and she twists the palm of her hand over the tip of Santana's dick and strokes it in the opposite direction, alternating in the tightness of her grip. "Please," her voice comes out wispy and breathless like she can't contain how she's feeling, and Santana only knows that too well as she strokes her fingers up and down Brittany's covered folds, applying just the right amount of pressure. "Please, do it."

Santana feels like her whole body is on fire, like she's burning up and it's spreading across every inch of her skin. Her eyes snap open, and she gazes deeply into Brittany's eyes, which are usually so bright but are now hooded and darker than ever before. A jolt of satisfaction spirals through her and feeling a hell of a less nervous than she was, she dips her fingertips beneath the damp panties, and trails her fingers through slick folds, groaning at the feel of Brittany's wetness coating her skin.

Gently, she strokes her fingers in a circle around Brittany's entrance, and then back up and down, pressing down slightly on her swollen clit. Brittany gasps, and brings their lips back together, sucking Santana's bottom lip between her own and nibbling gently. It feels like the room's too hot, and the familiar pleasure coils in to pit of Santana's stomach as she swipes her tongue across Brittany's lips, tasting herself and then pulling away to look deep into dark blue eyes.

After asking for silent permission, Santana slowly slides her fingers into Brittany, twisting slightly and curling just at the right spot until Brittany arches into her body and beings to grinds her hips. A thin layer of sweat is forming on her forehead as she leans down to kiss Brittany's neck, and she tentatively pumps her fingers, making sure to keep with the same twists and curls that created such a magnificent reaction.

"Oh…" Brittany whimpers with desire, and Santana can feel her fingers push in until their knuckle deep as the blonde parts her legs further. "Jesus Christ."

Santana rocks her hips in time to Brittany's, pushing into the pale hand stroking her throbbing cock with such practiced rhythm. Brittany hisses against her neck as Santana brings her thumb up to circle her clit, flicking carefully and then pushing down. Brown eyes go wide when the heat almost become too much and she feels herself slowly unravelling, ready to shoot.

"I'm gonna…" Santana grunts and Brittany's hand moves faster and faster, building up the climax until her eyes roll back into her head and it feels like the world is spinning. With two slow strokes, Santana looks deep into Brittany's eyes and jerks forward, feeling her load shoot shamelessly from her like bullets, into the fabric of her jeans. Her hips thrust forward, focused on making sure every last drop comes out and wanting Brittany to come with her, she curls her fingers and sees blue eyes glaze over, sinking into the same pit Santana is.

"San," Brittany moans and her breasts push up into Santana's as her eyes widen comically. "Hmmph"

And then it happens.

Brittany's eyebrows scrunch together, her mouth pops open into an 'o' shape and her eyes darken with one last spur of desire as the walls clench around Santana's fingers, sending Brittany into the depths of ecstasy that Santana's currently spurring through. It's like nothing she's seen before. Sure, it's not sex, but the way Brittany's body curls into her, shuddering and the way her face portrays the most mind-blowing orgasm known to man, it feels so much better than sex.

"Oh my…" Brittany whimpers in pleasures as one arm tightens around Santana's neck, pulling their bodies flush together to feel the intensity of their orgasms tying together as their bodies rock over, Brittany's hand still lightly stroking Santana's cock, using the sticky liquid as lubricant and Santana's fingers still thrusting in and out softly, curling to prolong the image of Brittany in pure ecstasy, because she's pretty sure she's never seen anyone look so fucking sexy and beautiful at the same time.

After a few more jerks and jolts, Santana drops her head to Brittany's shoulders, and the legs around her go slack. It's only now she realises how tight they were around her body, and instantly she misses the contact as they completely drop from her. The breaths she's taking seem to even out slowly, and she licks her lips, lightly flicking it against Brittany's throbbing pulse point which only creates another heavenly moan. Brittany moaning is definitely one of the most beautiful sounds she's ever heard, and the urge to lick the pale slope of the blondes neck almost becomes too much.


	10. Chapter Ten

Santana grins as she hears Brittany sigh with pleasure, and leans up to lock eyes with her once more. Carefully, she nudges their noses together and leans in, pressing a long, lingering kiss to her best friend's lips, tasting the salty of their combined sweat and remains of herself on them. She doesn't think she'd ever get used to kissing Brittany, whilst it's amazing, it's almost surreal because it's that damn good. When she feels Brittany's grip around her cock loosen, she groans and then realises her fingers are still inside the blonde.

With a grin, she bites her bottom lip and slowly slides her fingers out, stroking the inside gently one last time to get Brittany to moan, and of course, she does. The last few minutes play on the back of her eyelids like an old school movie theatre and she can almost feel herself getting hard again at the thought.

"So…" Santana smirks, kissing a smiling Brittany one last time before slowly sitting back on her ankles, and kneeling between Brittany's legs whilst her fingers move against each other, allowing them to glide together flawlessly. It's kind of strange, but watching the moisture make them slip against each other is rather arousing.

Brittany blushes, watching Santana watch her glistening fingers move, and brushes the back of her hand against her face, pushing back a few locks of hair. "Yeah, so…"

With her clean fingers, Santana starts to fumble with her jeans, until two pale hands grip around her wrists to stop her. "Uh, San?" Brittany starts, her vision darting between brown eyes and Santana's crotch. "You might wanna go change," she chuckles and leans back again, bending her knees until Santana's out from between them.

Santana's brows furrow. "Huh?" She asks as she looks down, noticing what Brittany means. Apparently, she wasn't prepared for how much she was going to shoot, because slowly dripping out of her jeans, sliding down the zip is glistening moisture, similar to the one on her fingers. A blush creeps up on her cheeks, but then she thinks it's ridiculous considering what just happened, and shakes it off. "Oh, yeah."

Brittany continues to chuckle as Santana pushes off her best friend's knees, wiggling against the uncomfortable feeling of drying come rubbing her softening cock from inside her boxers and scrunching her nose. "I feel like a teenager again," Santana says, pinching her forehead and grinning at the ground.

"Well your mom's not here to surprise you," Brittany quips, shooting a wink at the brunette as she lifts her hips from the sofa cushions to pull her leggings up properly. "and make you come inside your boxers before you can grab some tissues," she finishes, plucking at the hem of her top as she clamps her knees together with a large smile.

Santana gives her a playful shut up look with narrowed eyes and a small smirk. "Well excuse me if I didn't want to stop you and say hold up, let me get some tissues."

A pillow smacks her in her stomach, followed by a heavenly giggle. "I wouldn't have minded."

"Yeah," Santana bends down and picks up the pillow, fluffing it in her hands. "I'm sure you wouldn't have minded if I stopped doing what I was doing."

Brittany shrugs. "You weren't really doing much for me." There's affection lacing her tone so Santana knows her best friend's joking, otherwise her ego might've been seriously affected.

Santana quirks an eyebrow and takes a step closer to Brittany, crouching down and trailing her fingers up the expanse of her best friend's leg, dipping into where her calf muscle curves. Sapphire eyes widen, watching Santana's every move and the brunette grins as she hears an audible gulp, and a familiar pair of blue orbs following her like a hawk. But she continues, lingering slightly at the bottom of a strong knee, before dipping to the inside of Brittany's thighs, continuing up dangerously close to the place that makes her mouth water with anticipation and arousal.

As she gets to the apex of Brittany's thighs, her eyes flicker up to meet Brittany's, now dark and slightly hooded, and she grins. However just as her finger seems like it's about to run up the crease between Brittany's centre and thigh, she dips up and underneath the blondes top, who gasps in response. The skin is so smooth under her fingertip that Santana almost melts right then and there, and she traces up and down the line of Brittany's abs, then across her taut stomach from side to side and pauses at her protruding hipbone.

"I think this," Santana's eyes are still locked with Brittany's as she traces around the blondes right hipbone, then across to the other – emphasizing the feeling of them still rolling, "Proves different."

A blush creeps up on Brittany's face and Santana taps her hipbone once before standing, heading straight for her bedroom. She can hear the blonde giggling and a massive grin spreads across her face. It's ridiculous how easily Brittany can make her smile, and as she slips out her messed jeans and boxers, and slips into a new pair of boxers and some sweatpants, her stomach only flips several times over with the memory of what happened flashing behind her eyelids.

"Hey, San?"

Santana hears Brittany call from the living room, and rocks onto the balls of her feet to pull her sweatpants up before answering, "Yeah?"

"I'm gonna make some pancakes," Brittany's head pokes around the door frame, "Want some?"

Santana turns and pinches her lips up at the side as if she's thinking of an answer. Her eyes narrow playfully and she slowly walks over in the direction of her best friend. "You gonna put maple syrup on them?"

Brittany grins widely. "Did my cat used to read my diary?"

"Uh…" Santana hesitates and runs her hand through the side of Brittany's hair. "Britt, about that…"

"Shut up," the blonde scrunches her nose and grabs the hand running through her hair, twining their fingers together. "Yes, there's maple syrup. Now do you want some or shall I wait here for a few more seconds whilst you decide?"

Santana's skin flares up at this simplest touch from Brittany, and she feels all her nerves react and fizzle with elation. Being in her twenties, Santana's used to her how her body reacts to different things; she's spent twenty years learning what does what to her. But it seems she still hasn't quite adjusted to the sensation of Brittany's skin on hers. Sure, in the past they've touched, hugged, snuggled and seen each other half-naked, but everything's changed completely, and it reflects when they come in contact with each other. Brittany makes her feel like she's falling and doesn't care where she lands.

"I'd love some."

Brittany smiles and then shuffles towards Santana, head ducking to her chin. Santana inhales sharply, her eyes flickering from velvet, pink lips to bright, sparkling eyes, not sure which one looks more alluring at the moment. Her arms circle around Brittany's waist, and she spans her fingertips underneath the hem of Brittany's top like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"You want pancakes," Brittany's voice is soft when she speaks, and Santana's stomach flips as she knows it's because of what she's doing, "With maple syrup."

"I want pancakes," Santana inches her face closer towards the blondes and inhales in her scent as Brittany's arms loop around her neck. "With maple syrup," she repeats, her voice an octave lower than it was.

Santana licks her lips in anticipation as Brittany shudders in her arms, hoping the wide grin on her face means a kiss, but just as her eyes flutter shut, Brittany's face inching closer and closer, nothing happens. After about two seconds of waiting, Santana cracks open an eye and sees her best friend still standing in front of her, grinning widely.

"Good," Brittany steps away, leaving Santana to pout. "So you won't mind going to get some, then."

Santana's jaw drops into an 'o' shape and her eyes widen in disbelief. Such a classic 'Brittany' thing to do. The blonde cocks her head to the side, smiles and then steps away, tapping Santana's nose and heading in the direction of the kitchen, swaying her hips.

"I thought you said we had some!" Santana half-yells after her, stepping out the bedroom door to look down the hallway.

Brittany pauses and throws a glance over her shoulder. "Guess I lied," she winks and then disappears into the kitchen, leaving Santana to narrow her eyes in an, I'm-pretending-to-hate-you kind of way as she shakes her head and mutters "flirt" to herself.

Santana's about five meters away from the store when her phone buzzes in her pocket, she slips her hand in and takes it out, running her thumb over the sliding lock to read the text.

We're doing presents when you get back by the way! – B xxx

She grins and shakes her head, feet still moving towards the store as all her attention focuses on the cell in her hand, and the reply she's conjuring up.

I thought I already got mine? ;) – S xxx

The phone's swiftly back in her pocket as the sliding doors open with a greeting ding, leaving the cold air outside and introducing Santana to the warmth of the 7/11. Just like she expected, the store's pretty vacant. The clerk behind the counter has his feet propped up, magazine in hand and all concern for the two mischievous looking teens in the corner pocketing various items with no intention of paying for them, completely shot out the window. A few Christmas decorations are hanging limply from the ceiling and Santana's pretty sure they're the same as the ones she first saw when she moved to New York.

"Welcome to 7/11," a monotone voice comes from behind the magazine, "I'm Andrew, if you need any assistance you know where I am, and we here at 7/11 are wishing you Merry Christmas."

Santana wants to ask what the hell that was even about, considering the other 364 days she comes into the shop, there's barely even a glance from whichever mindless clerk is not paying attention to the thieves in the back corner, but she decides against it – she kind of wants to get home.

She makes a sound of acknowledgement, thinking it's more polite than completely ignoring him and stuffs her hands in her pockets as she makes her way through the store. The teenagers throw her a nervous glance as she comes to the aisle beside them, and she just chuckles, jutting her chin towards the security camera above them. Both of them to stare at the flashing red light on the side of the device for about two seconds before scampering out of the entrance, tails between their legs.

Just as her eyes dart from side to side, eyeing up the sauces and random condiments, she hears the ding of the doors and cranes her neck, rolling onto the balls of her feet to peer over the stacked shelves. It's always intrigued Santana to know who the hell would come to a 7/11 on Christmas day, seeing as it's kind of sad that they're not with family – but then again, she's here, so maybe they have a case of syrup emergency too. Maybe they're bouncing in their step, hoping to get home as soon as possible so they can cuddle up to their…

Santana's face falls.

Best friend.

Coming down to the store now doesn't seem like the best idea in the world. It's like inside the apartment, there was an atmosphere that dragged her into an unbreakable daze – allowing all her concerns and her conscience to just fly out the window. Now she's here, staring mindlessly at shelves that don't have syrup on them, just about thirty odd types of ketchup and mayonnaise, she's thinking about what the hell she's going to do when she gets back to Brittany.

She's married. Like, ring-on-the-finger-devoted-eternal-love-and-traded-vows kind of married - not second grade married with candy rings and a kiss on the cheek.

The thoughts get too much, and she shakes them off – it's Christmas, she doesn't want to be dealing with strangling confusion and a guilty conscience. She just wants to enjoy her day with Brittany. Brittany, the only girl who makes an idiotic grin slide across Santana's face whilst she walks down countless aisles in search for the hidden bottles of syrup. Jesus, it's like 7/11 wantSantana to buy a pair of trekking boots and throw on a survival rucksack just so she can find the damn syrup.

After about another minute lap around the store, she finds the right aisle. There's only two bottles of syrup left on the shelf, and she shrugs, picking up both. There's no such thing as too much syrup, she thinks, and makes her way back to the counter – hoping she actually remembered to stuff a twenty dollar bill into her pants pocket.

It's probably not good for Santana to be feeling this way, but she can't help it. She's practically bouncing in her spot as she waits for the small, Asian lady in front of her to pay for whatever she's buying. Damn, how hard is it to just give the damn clerk a few bucks and get on her way? Instead she sets aside the instinct to throttle the innocent bystander in front of her, and lets her brain occupy itself with other thoughts. Blonde haired, blue eyes thoughts.

Excited is definitely the word Santana would use to describe her mood right now, even though there is a twinge of nervous mixing with it. Right now, all she wants to do is just throw the greasy clerk the twenty she's now clasping and sprint home – leaving the change there since it's pretty much the last thing on her mind. She's buzzing to see Brittany again, even though only about thirteen minutes since she last saw her.

"Santana?"

Obviously this would happen.

Reluctantly, Santana turns to see a bundled up version of Rachel Berry - mittens, woolly hat, scarf, the whole works cuddling her tiny hobbit form – standing in front of her with a wide grin. Why couldn't it be Jennifer Lopez, or Halle Berry? Or better yet, Brittany coming down to see why she's been taking so long? Why the hell does Rachel Berry have to be here? What are the chances?

"Oh, hi," Santana mutters, keeping her head down as the Asian woman finally leaves after paying for her item – yes singular – and steps into her place, sliding the bottles of syrup across to the resistant clerk.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asks, her voice high and cheery, and just reeking essence of Christmas. "It's Christmas Day."

"Could ask you the same thing," Santana doesn't turn, keeping her back to the smaller brunette as she hands over the twenty dollar bill to the clerk, still flicking through his magazine with his spare hand. "Shouldn't you be like, I don't know, making sure Gargamel doesn't ruin your festivities?"

Rachel lets out a small laugh. "Oh, Santana. I see Christmas hasn't done anything to cheer up your mood. Are you missing Sophie?"

Rolling her eyes, and really wishing Rachel hadn't said that, she hastily snatches her change from the clerk, who jerks in surprise and grabs the bottles of syrup. "Actually I was in a good mood until I felt your presence spike the atmosphere."

"Someone's been reading through their cracker jokes this year haven't they?" Rachel retorts, her face splitting into a grin like she thought Santana was actually joking.

"Whatever, Berry. I've got to get back to Britt." She steps around the smaller brunette, before her body collides with a similar sized one and the bottles of syrup drop to the floor.

Of fucking course, the one time she actually has an outing to get away from Rachel, someone has to knock her right back into the ear-nagging depths of Berry world and probably route her there for a good ten minutes. Damn it, she just wants to get home. Plus, what's even stranger is that she's pretty sure she hasn't actually run into someone in like, ten years. Ever since the age of twelve, she'd perfected a fuck off scowl that somehow constantly remained on her face – even when she didn't mean or want it too – and the majority or people just seemed to stay away from her.

Santana feels her lip curl, now more time is going to be wasted apologising to this stranger when all her legs want to do is lead her back to her apartment and re-join Brittany in enjoying their Christmas festivities.

"Whoah, my bad," a voice comes from above Santana as she ducks to the floor to receive her fallen items, "Wait, Santana, right?"

Santana pockets one bottle in each available pocket and stands again, looking into hazel eyes. "Yes…"

"It's Quinn," the blonde woman says, "Quinn Fabray."

Recognition strikes Santana and she smiles, nodding her head. "Hey, how are you?" It's pretty weird considering she hadn't actually spoken to this woman in a friendly conversation kind of way, only the professional one, and now she's talking to Quinn like they've been friends for years.

"I'm good," Quinn says, "Just picking up some last minute presents." Rachel's still hovering behind Santana, and Quinn's eyes flicker over, completely clouding when they land on the small brunette and remain there. "Oh, sorry, did I interrupt you?"

Santana looks back, suddenly remembering Rachel's presence and lets out a loud laugh. "Oh, hell no. Saved me is more like it."

The smaller brunette sidles up beside Santana, her eyes still locked with Quinn's as she smiles sweetly. Suddenly this relatively large store seems kind of small, like Santana intruding in something. "Right…"

Rachel turns after a few long seconds, her body sagging as her gaze breaks from Quinn's and looks at Santana expectantly. That was weird. "Well, are you going to introduce us?"

Santana's brow furrows and her sight flickers between the two women in front of her. Seriously, what the hell is going on? "Yeah, right," her body faces Quinn, "Quinn, this is Rachel," then it turns to Rachel, "Rachel, this is Quinn."

Quinn's face beams and Rachel's brightens as they both offer their hands out at the same time, and then blush in embarrassment. This is really cringey, like some lame ass chick flick where two strangers' eyes meet across the room. Eurgh, if Santana doesn't find a waste bin in a few seconds, clean-up to aisle one is going to be coming through the speakers and the clerk is going to be grovelling. On second thought, that kind of seems like a good idea.

"Hi," Rachel smiles sheepishly, "I'm Rachel. I'm friends with Santana."

"Only because of Brittany," Santana interjects, not wanting to give Rachel the gratification of being able to say those words in front of someone else, but also not wanting to be rude seeing as Brittany will probably tell her off later. There's no doubt if she did say anything slightly offensive, Rachel would go straight to Brittany with teary eyes. Stupid actresses.

Quinn cocks an eyebrow. "Brittany?"

"Yeah, the blonde I was with when we first met," Santana elaborates, "This is her best friend."

"Oh."

Rachel narrows her eyes, and Santana tries to read the reasoning behind the confusion suddenly etching its way across Quinn's face. She can't. "Oh?"

"I thought you two were together," Quinn wrinkles her bottom lip into a small pout as if to shrug with her face, "that's all."

"No, that's ridiculous. Santana's mar-"

"Anyway," Santana steps further towards the door, hoping to make a quick exit, "Yeah, this is Rachel, Quinn," she turns to Rachel, "shake hands, have a hug, hell, ask for her number. Are we done here?"

The shorter brunette seems stunned by Santana's bluntness and clears her throat awkwardly, "I guess so," her attention diverts towards Quinn who's frowning at the interaction happening before her, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Quinn." Rachel's voice is sickeningly sweet as she sticks out her hand, her teeth showing through a wide smile and her eyes gleaming like she just saw the light for the first time. That train wreck's going to be fun to explain to Brittany.

"No, Rachel," Quinn steps forward, and takes the hand offered, sighing when their fingers brush against one another. Santana rolls her eyes, because, really? What is this? A stupid romance movie? No. "It was all my pleasure."

Rachel's face splits into the widest grin Santana's ever seen, and she tries to think of reasons why the hell Quinn would flatter the dwarf? Seriously, she's doing a pretty good job of feigning interest if it's not legit. "Anyway, however corny and awkward this meeting was, I think I'm gonna go now."

"Yeah…" Rachel breathes, eyes glossed over like she's in a daze," That… Sounds… Yeah."

Quinn chuckles and suddenly the smaller brunette snaps out of it, blushing furiously as her hands make a path down the front of her miniature skirt, (not to mention a skirt? What the fuck? It's like zero degrees outside), to smooth out the creases as her eyes dart to the floor. "I've gotta get going too."

Santana scoffs and then looks between the two women, not sure if she should go or stay seeing as the last thing she wants is to miss an opportunity to see Berry getting arrested because of indecent exposure and sexual indecency. Now that shit, would be funny as hell. "Okay then…"

Rachel spares Quinn one last sappy grin, which the blonde returns, and then waves sheepishly and exits, apparently forgetting her reason for actually being in the store in the first place. Santana's brows raise, a large crease forming in the middle as she tries to make sense of what the hell just happened. It's pretty obvious that Quinn's into Rachel, and vice versa, and fuck knows why. She can think of more appealing lepers.

"What was that?" Santana asks, her eyes flickering towards the door where Quinn's eyes are still routed.

Quinn stays silent, and Santana coughs lightly, but still, nothing.

"Quinn?" Santana waves her hand in front of the blondes face, "Are you in to her?"

This grabs Quinn's attention and she whips her head round, straightening up and shifting the lapels of her jacket like she's trying to play it cool. "Nah, she's... Course not."

"Yeah," Santana deadpans, shoving her hands deep into her pockets and rocking up onto the balls of her feet, "Sure seems like it."

An awkward silence invades their conversation as Santana looks around the shop, trying to find something to use as an excuse to get out of there without being rude. Thankfully, Quinn shuffles and stands in front of her, focusing all her attention on the girl in front.

"Hey," Quinn puts her hands into her pockets, "I was meaning to ring you, actually."

A perfectly shaped eyebrow perks up, "Why?"

"I was wondering if Millennium," hazel eyes dart around the store, like what the blonde's about to say is the most difficult thing in the world, "If you guys were still interested."

"In you?"

Quinn nods, "Yeah."

Santana runs uneasy fingers through her hair. It's probably not the wisest idea to tell a possible artist that she's considering leaving Millennium because she can't handle having the boss she does anymore, or the work hours, or just, yeah, that she can't deal with her job. "Uh, I'm not too sure."

Quinn's face falls with disappointment, "Oh, right," she scuffs her shoe along the floor and then glances up, forcing a wide grin that really isn't convincing at all, "Doesn't matter. Just wondering. Well, I've gotta go now." She offers Santana a quick wave and then turns away, zipping up her bomber jacket and tucking her chin into the collar before heading for the exit.

She doesn't know why, and sure as hell can't explain what the hell she's even thinking about doing this for, but Santana jerks forward, her hand flying to Quinn's and pulling the blonde to an abrupt halt. Hazel eyes stare at her with question, and Santana retracts her hand, stuffing them into her pockets of her jeans as she looks past the blonde into the snowy streets of New York.

"Look," Santana whispers, like it's a stage secret, "I only said that because I'm not sure how long I'm staying at Millennium for."

There's something resembling hope that flickers behind hazel eyes, "Why?"

Santana shuffles back, clearing her throat as her eyes dart around her surroundings. It's like a crime movie where she's pretty sure secret agents are going to be hiding round the corner, or cameras zooming in on her face and recording the conversation as she speaks. "Because I just…" her voice trails off and she tries to find the right words to say, but nothing comes out.

"Do you wanna get a coffee and talk about it?" Quinn offers, "And trust me I'm not asking you out."

Santana chuckles, her cell phone buzzing in her pocket and the maple syrup bottles half-hanging out her jacket pockets. It's probably Brittany, and there's pancakes waiting at home. But she doesn't get a lot of opportunities talk to someone about music, which actually understands music. Sure, Brittany's great to talk to, and she kind of gets it, seeing as her life revolves around dance, but it's just not the same thing.

"Sure," Santana smiles, "Coffee."

It's about an hour later when she walks out of Starbucks with Quinn.

"Thanks," Santana stops, chugging back the remains of her coffee before chucking the cup into a nearby trash can, "You've helped, a lot."

Quinn nods in agreement, "You've helped me too. But, just think about what I said?" She pats Santana's bicep, "Alright?"

The blonde is right. She said, after Santana delved into the dark secrets of the music entertainment business in regards to Millennium, that there's no point in staying somewhere where her needs aren't being fulfilled. Santana doesn't want a job where they want to make money; she wants a job where they make music because they want to make music. To spread the deep meaning and joy that songs can bring. Yeah, it pays Santana's income and gives her the big ass apartment and ability to go a little crazy sometimes, but that's not why she does it. Honestly, if she could choose, and if it was actually a possibility, she'd do it for free. Music means that much to her. Mostly because it saved her when Brittany couldn't, and for that she'll always be eternally grateful.

"Yeah," Santana breathes in the cold, crisp city air and then out to form little clouds, "I'll think about it."

"Okay, well I've gotta go to a gig now, so I'll talk to you later." Quinn leans in, hugging Santana and then parts, offering a small wave as she says "bye".

Santana watches the blonde walk away, when she remembers something. "Hey, Q?"

"Yeah?" Quinn turns around.

Santana grins, "Check your phone," she nods down towards the blondes pocket before turning away and walking back to the apartment.

Halfway home, her cell buzzes in her jeans pocket and she grabs it, sliding her thumb across the screen to reveal two texts and two phone calls. The phone calls are from an unknown number, and then the two texts are from Brittany. Instantly, butterflies flutter inside her stomach and she can't fight the ridiculous grin that spreads across her face.

With a tap of her finger, she opens the first message.

You did get a present, but not your proper one :P – B xxx

She shakes her head, discreetly pinching her own thigh through denim when the shot of arousal bottoms out at the apex of her thighs. Getting an erection in the middle of the street, in jeans, is pretty damn hard to hide, and not to mention it's embarrassing as hell. She moves onto the next text, flicking it open in a similar fashion.

Hurry up! I'm getting impatient! – B xxx  
(P.S. if you forget the syrup you're gonna be in trouble.)

It's starting to snow lightly, and Santana knows she's looking forward to night of close contact and cuddling, for, you know, warmth obviously. She loves the snow. She's always loved the snow, ever since she was a little kid and had her first white Christmas. There's something about snow that seems to take away all the melancholy that most other weather conditions create. Everyone complains when it rains, heavy or light, everyone complains when it's sunny, because it's either too hot or not hot enough, and everyone complains when it's windy, because it messes up their hair. But snow, there's a period of time when the snow starts falling, that everyone just gets up, looks out the window and watches each individual snowflake cascade through the air, twirling and flying without a care in the world. She loves that snow has that effect on people.

Santana arrives at her apartment block, entering in the four digit code to get in, when suddenly a wave of nausea hits her. She's nervous. To see Brittany. The one person who she probably feels most comfortable with in the world – and that includes her wife. But when she climbs up the set of stairs, deciding the elevator would take too long, the intense nerves switch to humming excitement.

A quick click of the lock, and she pushes her apartment door open, smiling at the smell of pancakes, warmth and Brittany. Damn, she doesn't ever think she'll get used to this strange feeling.

"Britt?" Santana calls, stepping over the threshold and pulling the bottles of syrup out her coat, placing them on the side table. "I'm back."

The jacket comes next, and she tosses it where it lands perfectly on one of the hooks on the coat rack. A small sense of satisfaction flushes through her, because let's be honest, that was totally cool, and it's only added to the intense buzzing going through her body. It's like nothing can dampen her mood today.

"Brittany?" Santana turns to slide the locks into place after closing the door. "Where are you?" She tries again, but there's no answer.

After picking up the bottles of syrup, she heads around the small wall blocking her view of the living room, stepping over something by her feet and slows as Brittany comes into sight.

The blonde's sitting on the sofa, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a baggy white t-shirt, her hair's damp and tied into a high ponytail. Santana quirks an eyebrow, it's not strange for Brittany to have a shower, but in some ways, it kind of is. Not to be presumptuous, but Santana would've thought she saved the shower for later.

"Britt?" Her feet wander cautiously into the room, around the sofa so she can take in the expression on Brittany's face. When she does, her own face pales, because Brittany does not look good. "What's wrong?"

Santana drops the bottles of syrup to the sofa, and bends, crouching in front of her best friend as she places both hands on the blonde's knees, looking up into blank blue eyes. "Britt?"

Brittany finally snaps out of whatever daze she's in, and her eyes slowly moves down from their place on the TV, which is playing a mindless cartoon, to meet brown ones staring up at her. Santana gulps, because she can read the fear, regret and sadness lingering behind those eyes she's become so wonderfully accustomed too. Panic seeps into her body and she tries to fight the rise of bile she feels bubbling at the back of her throat because her eyes, for some strange reason, start darting around the room.

It's only then does she notice the pair of knee length leather boots sitting haphazardly by the small wall.

It's only then does she notice the extra coat hanging on the rack.

It's only then that she realises there's two, small, black suitcases sitting on the kitchen island, with a glass of red wine that she knows Brittany doesn't drink, sitting right beside it.

"Surprise," Brittany whispers, her voice cracking and hoarse like she just spent the last half hour crying.

Her heart almost stops functioning around the same time her brain does when she glances back to Brittany. The blonde is staring at her with pained, blue eyes and she's slowly pushing Santana's hands off her knees as she gets up from the sofa, her knuckles pushing against the cushions to support her weight.

Santana's still crouched in front of the sofa, which isn't occupied and it's like her visions blurry as she stares at nothing sitting in front of her. Her fingers flex against the sofa cushions, since they must have landed there when Brittany got up, and suddenly it's like the fabric beneath her palms is the only thing keeping her stable, keeping her from falling and possibly passing out as her skull hits the hardwood floor.

"Babe!" A familiar voice booms throughout the room, and Santana winces as her the muscles in her legs make the decision for her to stand up. "You're back!"

Brittany's standing in the corner, her back facing the television as her arms are securely crossed across her chest. Her eyes are a dark blue, and bloodshot, like she's trying to hold back unshed tears, and Santana looks across the room, at nothing in particular as she tries to avoid the guilt pangs violently strumming against her insides.

She's about to open her mouth to say something, to say anything because right now would definitely be the best time – but instead something slightly heavy collides with her body. Legs wrap around her middle and she feels hands push against her cheeks to bring lips to her own. It takes about two seconds to register that someone's kissing her, someone that isn't Brittany, and that Brittany is watching this happen.

Hesitantly, and carefully, she opens her eyes, immediately locking with sad crystal blue ones staring at her from across the room as lips glide across her own. It's strange, like painfully strange, partially because she hasn't actually bothered to take a look at the body connected to the lips, and mostly because about two hours ago, she was doing the exact same thing with the person she's looking at with apologetic eyes. Two hours ago, her lips were pressed against Brittany's, sliding and gliding over each other smoothly as their tongues caressed each other's lips carefully.

But now, she's holding someone in her arms, doing the exact same thing with someone that it doesn't feel as half as good with. It's like her body is being possessed by someone else, like it's not her own as her lips release from the ones occupying hers with a pop. Arms pull against her head, legs tightening around her midsection, and she feels a nose bury into the crook of her neck as she tries to convey every sorry and please don't hate me she can possible cram into one glance at her best friend.

"I've missed you," the words print into her skin at the base of her neck, and they singe again her like an open flame. "I've missed you so much."

Santana barely pays attention to it though, instead focused on the way Brittany's body deflates, her shoulders sag as she swallows and blinks, a stray tear leaving the corner of her left eye and trailing excruciatingly painfully down her pale porcelain cheek. The blonde swallows audibly, her arms visibly clenching tighter around her body as she looks up at Santana with glossy eyes, saying the one thing Santana really didn't want to hear, and the one thing that was inevitable, but still hurts more than either one of them could imagine.

"Sophie's back."


	11. Chapter Eleven

29th December

"Sophie's back."

The words are still lingering in the forefront of her mind, mocking her and clenching her heart. It's been four days since Brittany left, four days since her best friend smiled weakly, wiped away the stray tear from the skin of her left cheek and made up an excuse that she had to be somewhere with Rachel. Santana knew better though, little did Brittany know she'd just seen the short brunette – but it wasn't like she was in the position to say anything.

Sophie had talked at her for about three hours straight, telling Santana about her trip and how Beijing is 'amazing with all its skyscrapers and buzzing atmosphere'. Personally, Santana's never seen the attraction to walk around in a place full of strangers that practically breathe in your own personal oxygen. Brittany once said it was ridiculous of her to think that, considering she lived in one of the busiest cities in the entire world, but hey, she's just like that. So instead of listening, she zoned out about two words into the 'epic trip of a lifetime' as Sophie had called it.

But the one thing that had caught Santana's attention was the way Sophie avoided the reason for coming back early. Wasn't she supposed to have gone for a week?

"Hey, Sophie?" Santana asks, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table as she flicks through the TV channels, "Why did you come back early?"

Sophie stills, pausing as she pours a cup of coffee. "They didn't, um, need me anymore."

"They didn't need you anymore?"

Feet pad along the floor and next thing she knows, Sophie's sitting next to her, legs swung over her lap as she blows the steam off her coffee. "Nope, hey, did you want a cup?"

Santana shakes her head; it would've been nice to have been offered a cup when Sophie was up, but hey, that would just be selfish, wouldn't it? "Nah, I'm good."

She finds Desperate Housewives on TV, one of the few episodes she hasn't seen and chucks the remote onto the coffee table. Something interesting happens on screen, like a murder or the very likely event of a plane crashing into Wisteria Lane, but she doesn't focus as her mind wanders. It's like when Sophie went away, something happened inside of Santana and despite it not even being two weeks since their wedding, she doesn't feel that buzz anymore. That buzz she always used to get when she saw Sophie smile, or laugh, or brush a piece of hair behind her ear, the one that made her stomach flip and heart spin.

But now?

Nothing.

Now the once adorable actions like twiddling the hem of her t-shirt between her fingers, or the way Sophie calls Santana babe, now does Santana's head in. It's like signing that marriage certificate has flipped a switch and now turned everything she once found endearing and adorable about her wife into irritating habits. Not to mention Sophie's crude comments and suggestive innuendo's that make her sound like she's been hanging around Puckerman too often. Those qualities inside a man are incredibly unattractive, Santana assumes, but at least they can put it down to their constant libido and sexual cravings. In a woman it just makes her look desperate and up for anything.

"Babe?" There it is. That damn nickname that gives Santana the irrational urge to make a fist-shaped hole in the Styrofoam wall behind the headboard of the bed. "Why was Britt here? When I came back?"

Santana freezes, she was kind of hoping Sophie wouldn't bring Brittany up. "Uh, her family couldn't come back from England. Neil's ill. I already told you this." Her tone drops as guilt fills her chest, she's the worst best friend ever.

"Who's Neil?" Sophie half-scoffs, sipping loudly on her coffee and swallowing it with an equal volume. Oh God, another annoying habit to put on the list.

"Brittany's dad, Sophie, I've told you this like a million times."

It's true; she has told Sophie pretty much everything about Brittany's family, not to mention their history. Although something tells her that if she asked a single question, Sophie would either or run away. Seriously? What has marriage done to her? She thinks she's being irrational until her eyes lock onto the bare skin of Sophie's collarbone.

"Soph," Santana reaches out to hook her finger into the neckline or Sophie's t-shirt, pulling it down to confirm what she was suspecting. "Where's your necklace?"

Sophie barely even seems bothered by the missing piece of jewellery and burning adrenaline spikes Santana's veins. It wasn't even her damn present in the first place, and now she's barely acknowledging that she's lost it. What the fuck?

"Huh?"

"I said," Santana tugs a little harder on the neckline, "Where's the necklace I got you for Christmas?"

Sophie barely hums in response, shrugging her shoulders like the damn silver necklace was worth a hobo's shoe, not two hundred dollars. Fuck, it wasn't even her damn present and now she's gone and fucking lost it. "Don't know," she answers fast, waving one hand in the air like she's dismissing Santana, "but please babe,be quiet, I'm trying to watch TV."

Losing her resolve second by second, Santana snaps her hand away, feeling the anger fizzle in her fingertips as she stares incredulously at her girlfriend. "You serious? You've lost the necklace?"

"I haven't lost it," Sophie mutters with disinterest, "Just misplaced it."

"Well find it."

Sophie spares a quick glance. "After this, I'll look," then returns to the TV once more.

Santana grits her teeth, feeling acidic rise in the back of her throat. Right now she really wishes she had something to take her rational urge to punch something out on. Preferably a punch bag. if not, Puck would do. She loves his reaction when she jabs him in the arm with all her strength.

"Can you just," Santana inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb, "look for it now? I took a long time to find it an-," she bites back the 'it wasn't even meant for you'. "Can you just look for it, now? Please?" It comes out in a long exhale.

"After, babe."

"Sophie, please."

Sophie sips on her coffee non-chalantly. "I'll do it after."

Santana shakes her head, losing the ability to stay calm and slides her palms around Sophie's calf muscle, pushing pale legs off her lap. "It's not like I'm asking you to climb Everest, I'm asking you to look for an expensive necklace I bought you for Christmas."

"Jheeze, Santana. Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, did we?" Sophie doesn't take her eyes off the television as she tucks her legs underneath her, smirking at her own comment.

"Maybe I'd appreciate you listening to me once in a fucking while," Santana retorts, her knuckles digging into the sofa cushions as she hastily pushes up and stares down at her wife with narrowed eyes. "Like now would be good."

Sophie's golden-green eyes remain locked on the screen. "I am listening."

"Then look at me."

Reluctantly, Sophie tears her eyes away from the screen and looks to Santana, eyebrows raised in a happy now? kind of way. It only irritates Santana more and she kicks the base of the sofa, ignoring the intense throb in her little toe and the fleeting thought that maybe that wasn't a good idea without shoes on.

"Why are you being like this?" Sophie leans forward, the coffee cup sliding along the glass table until it stops in the middle. It's stupid, and petty, but Santana can't even count the number of times she's asked Sophie to put her fucking mugs and glasses on a fucking mat. Seriously, how hard is it to grab one from the ridiculous dispenser Sophie insisted would come in handy? Fuck.

"Why am I being like this?" Santana repeats, her fists clenching by her side.

Sophie nods in a condescending yah which only makes Santana want to make the fist-shaped hole into a Sophie's head-shaped hole. "Maybe if you weren't being such a-"

"Babe, seriously, can we talk about this after? Gabriella's about to find out her daughter isn't hers."

That's pretty much the last straw for Santana. She hisses at the acid bubbling on her tongue, pushing back the red that flashes across her eyes as she lurches for her coat, slipping on her shoes next and abruptly slams the door shut behind her on exit. She forgets her cell and keys are inside the apartment.

"Sophie's back." Brittany whispered, swallowing as she fought back the tears.

Santana's hands wrapped around Sophie's waist, supporting the weight as her bodies wife further up her body. Blue eyes locked onto the movement, increasing in pain. Shit. That must have looked like Santana was hugging back.

"Wh-wha…" Santana trailed off, trying to find the right words. She was pretty sure her body was still stiff from the sudden arrival of her wife, days early. It kind of felt like she was being caught red-handed. Guilt flushed through her, blood rushing to her face as her eyes remained on the blonde in the corner of the room. The distance between them wasn't actually that much, but it felt like miles.

"Surprised?" Sophie grinned, nuzzling her nose against Santana's as her green eyes sparkled with affection. "I thought it would be a nice Christmas present, even if I did ring you twice but you didn't answer."

"Uh," It's like Santana's throat was thickened with a layer of concrete as she connected the anonymous missed phone calls with Sophie's words. Sophie had tried to ring her. Fuck, "D-definitely surprised."

She knew she needed to keep it cool, to act like ice and make like a polar bear. But she couldn't. What was she supposed to do? The woman she cheated on with her wife, who also happened to be her best friend and crush, (uh, even that word makes Santana cringe), was standing across the room with wounded eyes - whilst her wife was wrapped up in her arms, completely oblivious to the tension and racing thoughts going on inside her mind. Santana was really starting to fucking hate herself.

Just then the atmosphere shifted and Santana whipped her head around, meeting dark blue eyes. "I've gotta go," Brittany announced, finally moving as she grabbed her belongings for the door.

Santana as quickly and as gently as possible, let her grip go from her wife, allowing Sophie to slowly slide down her bottom until her feet touched the floor.

"You've gotta go?" Santana repeated, slight accusation lacing her tone.

Brittany nodded, clearly doing her best to restrain her emotions as a pale, shaky hand reached for the doorknob. "Yeah, Rachel's waiting for me."

That wasn't true, Santana knew it. Only an hour ago she'd seen Rachel, heading back to her dads' house for Christmas, well, she thought that was the case anyway. Plus, it wasn't like Brittany to change her plans on Christmas Day – she'd never leave Santana unless something pretty bad happened - bad being an understatement when describing the situation they were in. But it wasn't like Santana could comment

"Rachel?" Santana stepped forward, realising her fingers were laced with Sophie's as she was tugged back. Suddenly her hand felt like a thousand tons as she saw Brittany's body flinch out the corner of her eye.

"Yeah," Brittany said, her voice rough with sadness as her eyes darted down to laced fingers. "I'll see you… Whenever."

Just like that, Brittany left. Not even sparing a single glance as she quickly disappeared through the door, it slamming with an echo that would repeat in Santana's mind for several nights to come.

Santana's pretty sure she's about to throw up into Mrs Henderson's flower patch when she arrives at Brittany's apartment. Mrs Henderson's a sweet old woman, around eighty or so, but she definitely wouldn't take kindly to her gardenia's being covered in vomit. Hell, that poor woman spends the majority of her day plucking and pruning that tiny patch of grass covered in various flowers and the last thing Santana wants to do is upset someone else. She might as well start writing down a list.

The street is pretty empty considering it's a Friday and 11pm, but there's still some noise from the local nightclub, and a few early night drunks lumbering about and giggling at a squirrel crossing the road or something equally lame. Fake ID's and teenagers have never been a good equation.

But it still doesn't quell Santana's nerves as she taps her foot up and down on the stoop, wondering what she's supposed to say as an apology, or if she's even supposed to apologise for her best friend. Sure, they haven't talked, no texts or calls, but neither even tried to initiate it. She guesses she should feel bad, but knowing Brittany didn't even try and contact her kind of makes it a little easier.

She shakes her head. This is ridiculous. They've always been able to get over problems in their friendship, always been able to sweep it under the rug – so this shouldn't be any different, right? Something tells her she's wrong.

All the same, Santana takes a deep breath and raps on the door, bracing herself for what's to come.

She doesn't wait for meaningless greetings as the door swings open. Instead, she digs her hands into her pants pocket; her eyebrows scrunch together as she stares at the ground like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "Hey, look, I know we haven't spoken in-"

"Hey, Santana."

The back of her neck feels too hot, and she clenches her hands inside her jeans, pinching the skin of her thigh as her teeth grit together. That's not the voice she was expecting, and that's definitely not the voice she wants to be hearing at 11pm on a Friday night. Surely enough, as she looks up and gages the face of the man standing before her, the confirmation of her own suspicion just slaps her in the face.

"Mike?" The name slips out Santana's mouth like it's foreign, "Um, hey."

"Who is it?" Brittany's voice calls from deep inside the house, increasing in volume as footsteps pad through the hose. "If it's Mrs Henderson you can tell her it's not me playing the music this-,"

Brittany comes into view, wearing a short dressing robe that finishes mid-thigh, revealing her bare legs. Her eyes widen, movements slowing as blue slowly flicker from Mike towards Santana, and then back again. "Santana," she says, her voice flat.

It's definitely not the wisest idea; coming to Brittany's house just so that she can have the door slammed in her face. Inside her mind she's been trying not to see that as a possible outcome of her sudden visit, but the more she thinks about it, the more likely she thinks it is. Guess she is kind of happy Mike's here, seeing as Brittany wouldn't shut the door on her face with someone witnessing that act. Brittany's not like that.

"What do you want?" Brittany says, the words kind of sounding like a sneer but it still has an underlying tone of affection that makes Santana want to smile. Brittany's never been able to stay mad at her.

"Hi," Santana says, because it's the only thing she can think of - especially with Mike still standing there with, oh… a blue bathrobe on. How cute, matching clothes. She doesn't even want to think why they're dressed like that, and she definitely doesn't want to show the hurt she's feeling, knowing exactly what they were doing to get into that outfit. Suddenly all the malice she feels for the innocent man streams through her veins once more.

"Mike, can you go inside? I just want to talk to Santana for a minute."

Santana turns, resting her butt against the railing on the stoop as her arms cross across her chest. The use of her full name is enough to tell her that this conversation isn't going to be pleasant. Brittany only uses it when she's either pissed off, upset or pouting. Damn, Santana really wishes Brittany was pouting right now – at least the other two possibilities would be erased.

By the time she looks back to the door, Mike's slipping into the living room, smiling sweetly at Brittany like she's the best thing that ever happened. It's been four days and it seems he's already completely inebriated by the blonde. A little part of Santana hates that her best friend has that effect on people. Brittany pulls each side of her robe together, tying the ribbon in a neat bow at the centre of her midsection as she exhales heavily. The blonde quickly steps over the threshold, quivering at the slight breeze as she leans in a mimicked position, across from Santana.

"Shacked up with Chang now, are we?" Santana can't hide the plain jealously in her question, which is kind of more like a statement as her chin juts in the direction of the closed door. "That was quick."

"Why are you here?" Brittany breathes, in a way that makes Santana think she's getting tired of her. The fact that the blonde just ignored the half-jibe just kind of confirms that.

Santana decides making light of the situation would be easier. She's never had to deal with the aftermath of a pissed off/hurt Brittany so it's a risk. Then again, coming here in the first place was a big enough risk of its own.

"Can't I come and see my best friend once in a while?" She jokes, smiling at the blonde and hoping to God it wasn't a bad move.

Brittany's lips twitch and she smiles sadly, looking to the ground. "Do you really need to ask that?"

"Just checking to see if it's still alright," Santana says in the same light tone, but she tries to convey the seriousness of the statement. "I haven't exactly been the best, best friend."

"We're both as bad as each other, San." Brittany replies, her tone lightening as the blue in her eyes brighten.

"No Britt," she presses on, "I've been a jackass." Jackass is a pretty mild statement considering her actions in the last few days. But the way Brittany glances up and raises an eyebrow makes her think the blonde knows that. She smirks. "See, I can see it in your face."

The urge to step across the gap, and press her finger into the slight crease above Brittany's eyebrow burns down her arm, but she knows she can't. So instead, she just moves across the stoop, taking the spot next to her best friend so their nearly shoulder to shoulder.

"We're, alright, aren't we?" Santana asks warily, needing to hear the actual words otherwise it'll just rack her brain for the nights to come. "We're good?"

Brittany nods, a lock of blonde hair falling down in front of her face. "When are we ever not?" She says with a smile, grinning as her lips press into her teeth.

"You know what I mean," Santana doesn't care anymore, instead she reaches up, her fingers grazing lightly at the skin on Brittany's cheekbone as the lock of hair tucks behind a pink tinged ear. It's probably the cold, and not Santana's touch that did that. "I just want to know if we're okay."

"I know," Brittany tilts her head away from Santana's touch, leaving caramel fingers to hover in the air awkwardly. She knows it was a long shot to touch the blonde, but it was like a need. A burning urge that she just couldn't restrain. "We're okay."

"You sure?"

There's something inside of Santana that just wishes that Brittany would come out and say no. She wishes that she could stand on the stoop, demanding to know why they're not okay, seeing as the answer is just a cover up, and waiting until Brittany tells her why they did what they did on Christmas day. It's not what two best friends do, especially not with the connection they had, nor the fact that one of them is married. In terms of friendships, that was definitely not in the realms of normalcy.

A slow nod responds to her brief question, "Yeah, we're good. We're always good."

That's the problem, she thinks she hears on the end of the sentence, but risking their quick make-up just in confirmation isn't worth it. So instead she sighs, and drums her fingertips along the black, metal railing she's leaning on.

"So, you and Chang?" Santana asks, her gaze trained on the small flower patch as she tries to keep her voice steady.

Brittany turns her head, eyes focusing on Santana's profile. "What about us?"

"Bit random?"

Out the corner of her eye, she sees fair eyebrows furrow, "Not really, we had a date."

"Baby, what's up with you?" Sophie's hands trailed down Santana's chest, slipping over her boobs as lips pressed into the side of her neck. Her hands paused just about Santana's clothed navel, scratching lightly as they balled into fists.

Santana grimaced. Probably not the best reaction to be having to her wife's touch. "I'm fine."

She was definitely not fine. The day was Boxing Day - the day after the suckiest Christmas of all time. Which includes the one where 9 year old Santana woke up to her mother underneath the Christmas tree, open presents spread everywhere with a variety of different empty liquor bottles and a man between her thighs - a man that was definitely not her dad.

It was 9pm. Santana knew this because she'd been watching the clock tick by, second by second, for the past two hours. 7pm was the typical date arrival time, and she knew Brittany well enough to know that two hours was definitely the limit. The urge to sprint to her best friend's house and wait for the arrival of Brittany and the Asian Ninja surged through her thigh muscles, but she couldn't come up with a legitimate reason to go out.

Apparently all the world's bread, milk and eggs were in their apartment. She'd found that out when she said she was going out to buy some around 8.30. Orange juice did spring to mind, but the chances that Sophie also had that somewhere in stocks Santana never knew of, were very high, so she went against it. Plus, any excuse she came up with now would seem suspicious. She couldn't have that.

"Come on, babe." Sophie nipped Santana's lobe, sucking lightly. "We never had our wedding night."

Santana shivered at the suggestion and sat up, leaning away from her wife who was standing behind the sofa she was occupying. "Not tonight, Soph. I'm tired."

"I'll do all the work," She felt the atmosphere shift as Sophie trailed one finger across the back of the sofa, moving around it to stand in front of Santana, between her legs and the coffee table. "You won't have to do anything, but lie back and enjoy."

A hand pushed to the valley of Santana's chest, and her back met the back of the sofa. Sophie leaned down slowly, and probably seductively, but she didn't notice. Her mind was too occupied with the intense volume of the ticks the clock was making. She was expecting Brittany to ring after the date. That's what the blonde always used to do.

Then again, things were different.

"Soph…" Santana's voice strained with slight frustration. If she felt anything in the world at that moment, it was decidedly not aroused.

"Come on, babe…" Sophie's voice was an octave lower as she threw one leg either side of Santana's hips, straddling her.

But there was no chance. Santana didn't even think Sophie getting down on her knees and sucking could even make her hard. And frankly, she didn't want to feel the embarrassment as well as everything else she was feeling.

"I said no." She grabbed Sophie's thighs and picked her up, hastily placing her wife in the spot she was just in before walking towards the bedroom.

The door slammed shut without another word.

"Did you?" Santana asks, her face scrunching as she tries to forget that she definitely did remember their date. After entering the bedroom she practically threw herself onto the bed, burying her face into the pillow as she thrashed about violently. She felt like a little kid, but it did help with releasing some of the frustration. "I didn't remember."

"Oh," she's pretty sure she hears disappointment in Brittany's voice. But before she can comment, that fake smile is back on Brittany's face. "Well, yeah, the date went well."

"I can see," Santana mutters under her breath, gripping the railing tighter as it presses into the back of her thighs. "Well, that's good."

Blue eyes narrow, apparently Brittany heard. Good. "Was there anything else?"

Her tone is neither accusatory nor hopeful, but it gives Santana the feeling that Brittany wants to get back inside, quickly. She's not sure if it's because Brittany wants to get away from her, or get back to him – either way, it makes her stomach feel like it's about to drop out her ass. The thought grinds at her stomach, the pain clawing up the back of her throat as she fights back the urge to say he doesn't deserve you and scoop Brittany up into her arms, whisking her away from everything.

"No," Santana shakes her head solemnly, pushing her butt forward so she's standing in the middle of the stoop in front of her best friend. "That was it."

Brittany stands, tightening her robe and crossing her arms. "Okay."

There's something unsaid lingering in the air, and Santana knows both of them can sense it. Brittany's looking at her with that are-you-going-to-say-it kind of look, and it just makes her want to jump into a pit because she knows she can't say it. She wants to say that Brittany means more to her than appropriate, she wants to say that Mike isn't the person she should be with, she wants to say that she doesn't know what the fuck is going on inside her brain, but she knows that she wants Brittany. But she can't.

Because of the wedding ring on her finger, and the Asian guy less than ten metres away.

And judging by the long exhalation, Brittany gets that too.

"I'll see you…" Santana trails off, uncertain of what's going to come of them now. "…Whenever I see you."

"Yeah… Bye Santana."

Santana turns and walks down the stoop, hands in pockets and heart heavy.

"San?"

She turns, eyebrow raised as her heart skips a beat. The way her name rolls off Brittany's tongue like that just… Uh. It does stupid things to her insides, "Yeah?"

Brittany bites her lip and then releases it, eyes narrowed like she's reading a book. "We're dressed like this" – she sweeps down her body - "because we were in the Jacuzzi, and no. We haven't had sex."

Santana's heart stops beating, blood rushing to her face. Relief washes through her but she can barely pay attention to it, only panicking that her best friend's developed the ability to read her mind or something. "I didn't ask?" Her voice is an octave too high, and the knowing smirk on Brittany's face just says I know you.

Stepping across the threshold, Brittany pauses, hand on the edge of the door and stares deep into brown orbs with a blatant sadness. "You didn't have too."

Then the door shuts.

Confused, and definitely relieved, Santana stares at her best friend's apartment.

She doesn't know what the hell she's doing anymore.

31st December – New Year's Eve

"So where are we going?"

Santana laces her fingers through Sophie's and tugs her further down the street, towards the quaint little restaurant Piccolo's. Sophie wanted to go to the uptown restaurant Arbeggio's – but Santana quirked an eyebrow and asked "since when did you start shitting money?" which of course – Sophie didn't take too kindly too.

They're not doing much tonight, just a nice meal and then off to Quinn's house for a miniature party type thing until midnight. God only knows Sophie will be drunk out her skull by then. She thinks it'll be a good time to get some Sophie-free time since her wife's constantly been on her back about consummating their marriage and that it's weird they haven't done it yet. Her mind's been way outta place, so much so that she can barely remember how to get turned on by something that isn't blonde and blue eyed.

Truth be told, Santana couldn't even get her body to perform.

"Babe?"

Santana pulled her eyes away from the TV screen, trying to ignore the heavy pants against the underside of her jaw as Sophie nipped at her skin. "What?"

"You know what…" Sophie trailed her finger down between Santana's collarbones, then through the valley of her breasts and ending dangerously close to the waistband of her boxers. "…We haven't done yet?"

Santana had been waiting for this. She wasn't sure how long she could prolong it, and ever since she practically threw her wife off her, Sophie hadn't mentioned it. It had been nearly a week since that incident, and so far every time Sophie said she was heading for bed with a suggestive tone, Santana just made up that work was hectic and she had a few papers to do – even if she'd been watching TV for the past half hour.

"Oh, yeah?"

Sophie tugged the side of her bottom lip between her teeth, nodding with dangerously glinting eyes. "Uh huh."

"Sophie I'm not really in the moo-"

The green eyed brunette slid her hand down the front of Santana's boxers, gripping her flaccid member and stroking the shaft rhythmically. She squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her head back against the headboard and trying to focus on her wife's ministrations. Wet, open mouthed kisses were pressed to her neck and she started rotating her hips to move the process along.

But nothing was happening.

"Babe," Sophie whispered hoarsely into Santana's ear, "Get hard for me."

Santana clenched her jaw, biting back the urge to slap the hand inside her boxers away. "Mhmm…"

Soft fingers twisted slightly, stroking a little harder and squeezing whenever it reached the base, but no matter what Sophie was doing – nothing was happening. Blood rushed to Santana's face and she gritted her teeth – willing herself to not think of the one thing that would make her grow to her full length in seconds. Soon enough she'd have to be having sex with her wife, thrusting in and out and maintaining her hard-on, and there was no way she could handle the guilt of waking up next to her wife, the night after consummating her marriage and realising she was thinking of an entirely different woman from the one she was slamming into repeatedly. That wasn't something she could do.

Believe it or not, Santana did have some morals.

Plus, despite rejecting it, she was pretty sure somewhere inside of her, she wasn't sure if doing anything with Sophie would be okay with Brittany… It was like she was waiting for Brittany to do it first and then it'd give her the okay signal. She felt like she needed the approval, the permission from her best friend since the shit hit the fan. Only then could she go on with whatever she could bring herself to do.

Stupid, Santana knew.

"What's wrong?" Sophie said a little louder than necessary into her ear, subtle frustration lacing her tone. "Come on…"

If it wasn't for the fact Santana was trying her hardest to imagine all the incredibly dirty things she'd done to Sophie in the past, and not on the teenage-act her and someone else had performed recently – she'd probably be embarrassed about not being able to get it up.

Then it clicked. That was it. That was her way of avoiding this once more.

Sophie couldn't be mad at her if she pretended to be embarrassed, right?

"Fuck!" Santana cursed, her hand sliding down to grip Sophie's wrist. "Do it faster!"

Wide-eyed, Sophie obliged, rubbing harder and faster. About a minute later, Santana decided it was enough time and harshly tugged the hand out of her boxers, running her free hand through her hair as she stood abruptly from the bed. It was time for acting.

"What the fuck?" She cursed, glancing down at her crotch.

Sophie knelt on the end of the bed, "Babe, it's fine… It happens to most people at some point…"

Inwardly, Santana grinned to herself. Sometimes it freaked herself out how well she could act. "No! It's embarrassing!" She groaned and threw herself back onto the bed face first, burying her nose into the comforter and practically forcing irritation to emanate off her. A hand touched the small of her back and she flinched.

"Don't," Santana said, harshly. "It doesn't fucking happen to everyone."

Sophie voice was soft as she moved her hand in a soothing, circular motion. "Babe, it's fine. Honestly, we can just try again tomorrow."

Groaning, for a completely different reason this time, she nodded against the mattress, feeling the bridge of her nose reject the pressure. Guilt panged inside her chest, but she managed to push it aside. All that was running through her brain was a miniature celebration.

She prolonged it.

And that was all that she cared about in that moment.

They reach Piccolo's around 8pm. Because of the rush inside the restaurant, crowded tables and red-faced waiters, they have to wait at least ten minutes for their table. Despite insistent emerald eyes boring into the side of her head, pleading with her to give the maître D a tip, Santana smiles, nods and takes a seat in one of the sofa's, waiting for a seat vacancy.

However the delay has also brought about spare time to think about Brittany. It's ridiculous, because she's sitting on a sofa in a nice, little Italian restaurant, with her wife on New Year's Eve, and all she can do is think about someone else.

She can't stop thinking about Brittany and Mike. No matter what happens, it's like her brains encoded and her thoughts always seem to lead into something Brittany related. Both of them are going to Quinn's tonight, Santana knows that, and the jitters in her stomach do too. Mike's probably going to be there, not knowing how lucky he is, (even though he probably does because he's a nice guy), and parading around with the most beautiful woman there. Bar Sophie of course.

Sure, Santana's happy that Brittany's found someone, but at the same time she kind of hates it. Having Brittany back after eighteen months apart is like having Christmas every day, and they pretty much spent the majority of their time together since then. But now everything's changed. Now there's some weird tension between them, as well as a boyfriend/wife hanging on their arm, and it's like they don't know how to be around each other anymore.

Christmas was without a doubt that defining chapter - Christmas Day to be precise. Santana knows that. But it doesn't make it any easier to deal with since the lack of arousal in regards to her wife have pretty much been abolished by the one stupid act that happened between her and Brittany. It wasn't even sex and now Santana can't even bring herself to sleep with her goddamn wife. Seriously, it's ridiculous! Before that happened, the prospect of even touching her wife or having Sophie sit on her lap got her all excited and hot under the collar – but now it just makes her upper lip curl and bile gurgle at the back of her tongue.

To say it's getting to the point of ridiculous, would be putting it mildly.

Since pretending to get all bothered by her inability to get it up, Sophie's only been more insistent – rubbing on her thighs dangerously high, snuggling extra close at night, 'accidently' brushing against Santana's crotch and not to mention the nips and licks at her neck whenever they'd delve into the rare make-out session. The make-out sessions only happened whenever Santana wanted to shut Sophie up or needed to release some pent up tension.

Sounds terrible - but that's just what Santana's fucked up mind is consisting of nowadays.

"We have your table," the maître D stands by his booth, hand clasped together and Cheshire grin pasted on his snarky face as he points towards the empty booth in the back right hand corner, "If you'd like to come with me."

Santana smiles and nods, picking Sophie's hand off her thigh and threading their fingers together as she tugs her wife through the restaurant after the maître d. The restaurant is pretty packed. The tables are closer together than usual, the chatters are booming around the room and the waiters are running around like they're on speed. Then again, if it wasn't for the crowded room, Santana wouldn't have caught her foot in the strapping of one of the bags haphazardly strew on the floor between two cramped tables, and she wouldn't have stumbled into the back of chairs – who happened to be occupied by a familiar head of blonde hair.

Of course.

Why wouldn't that blonde head of hair belong to one of the most intoxicating scents that Santana could pick out anywhere? Why wouldn't the person occupying the chair she just clumsily bumped into have the most enticing crystal blue eyes that kind of makes Santana forget her own name? Why wouldn't the person sitting on the chair Santana's clinging onto for dear life, while she resists the urge to snap at the stupid woman who should've tucked her bag in further, be none other than the person she can't seem to get out her head.

Why wouldn't it be Brittany? In all of the restaurants in the tri-state area, why wouldn't she happen to go to the same damn restaurant Brittany's at, with Mike, whilst she's with her wife?

That would just be too damn easy.

Mentally, she takes a note to kick God square in the taco if she ever meets him.

"Excuse m-"Brittany swivels in her chair with the calmest aggression in her tone, "Oh, Santana."

The sheer surprise and regret that flashes across blue eyes is enough to make Santana teeter a bit more, to make one of her hands to slip off the back off the chair and make her to stumble further. If she didn't look like bad before, now she has falling over nothing to add to her application for biggest idiot alive. Wonderful.

A cool hand presses against her forearm, fingers curling around the skin and anchoring her and almost instantly a warm one presses against the small of her back. Both of the touches combined makes her jolt away to the side – straightening up as her eyes dart from quizzical emerald to knowing blue.

"You alright, babe?" Sophie pipes up, flitting towards Santana's side and rethreading their fingers like it's a desperate attempt to show Brittany whose she is. Pissing on the bottom of Santana's pants would be a more subtle attempt at marking her territory.

"I'm fine."

Brittany studies her for what seems like the longest millisecond on earth before switching on a beaming smile; like she couldn't be happier they bumped into each other. It's only now that she takes in Brittany attire that enhances her ungodly beauty and damn, Santana has to look away before her mouth drops open and a little drool comes out.

Discreetly pinching her own thigh through the pocket of her jeans, she clears her throat and looks to the disregarded occupant on the other side of the table. Mike. "Oh, hey Chang," she narrows her own eyes. Chang? What the hell was that?

"Hey, Santana."

Before an awkward silence can kick in, Brittany's eyes dart from Sophie back to Mike. "Mike, this is Sophie – Santana's wife. Sophie, this is Mike. My…" The words die off and Santana cocks a brow, sensing the hesitation in Brittany's eye.

"That's Mike," Santana squeezes Sophie's hand, smiling and nodding like she's known Mike for years, "Brittany's boyfriend." She finishes with a slightly challenging tone, her eyes boring into blue ones conversing things she can't vocalize.

Being the gentleman he is, which Santana kind of hates, Mike stands up, offering out a hand and holding back his tie with the other. "Pleasure to meet you, Sophie - I've heard a lot about you."

Sophie's body tenses as she reaches out with her free hand, grasping the Asian man's one and shaking firmly, "Please to meet you too, however," her head turns towards Santana, eyes narrowed and hard like she's offended Mike hasn't been mentioned. "I can't say the same thing about you I'm afraid."

Santana's teeth click together as she dips her head slightly, breaking all eye contact with the three people glaring at her. "They've only just started dating," Santana shrugs; pursing her lips she doesn't give a crap, "Didn't think it was worth mentioning."

She sees Brittany's body stiffen in the corner of her eye, and slowly drags her vision to meet her best friend's. Hurt flashes behind blue and Santana gulps against a thickened throat. Since when the hell did such a simple, easy introduction turn into a blood-curdling conversation? She just wants to get to her table now.

"Anyway, as lovely as this has been," Santana tries to put a small smile in her tone, but it just comes out as a scoff and suddenly Santana can imagine cutting the tension in the air with a pair of scissors. It's that damn thick. "We've gotta go get eating. It's pretty busy in here without us holding up service."

"Sure, we'll see you later guys? At Quinn's?" Mike grins, still standing as he looks to Brittany for confirmation.

"Definitely."

"Yeah…" Santana trails off, tugging insistently on Sophie's hand and trying to get away as fast as she can. This is so not a situation she wants to be in. "Bye."

Two goodbyes follow her own and when she gets to the table, sitting opposite her wife and feeling blue eyes boring into her temple – she wishes she'd just coughed up the extra hundred dollars and gone to Arbeggio's.

It's around 10pm when Santana flicks the lapels up on her jacket, feeling the crisp chill to the winter air and wondering where the hell all the cabs have gone.

Sophie needed to head back home, so they departed after their meal – which was filled with the green eyed brunette banging on about her trip and how wonderful it was etc. And once again, Santana switched off half-way through her spaghetti and meatballs.

After about ten minutes of waiting, she manages to hail a cab and slips into the warmth of the car, muttering Quinn's address and settling back into her seat – watching New York City pass her in a blur. The lights illuminate the streets, and most of the bars are already jam packed with half-drunk hooligans wearing ridiculous 2012glasses and neon hats that probably cost around $5 and will be forgotten within a few minutes.

Usually, New Years is one of Santana's favourite times of the year – after Christmas of course – but this year it just feels like a drag. She hates everything about it right now, from the stupid amount of champagne people consume to the rowdy cheer echoing through the streets. She hates the way Times Square pops up on TV and how Ryan Seacrest's stupid face takes over the whole screen with his cosmetically whitened teeth and smirking cat face. She can only imagine the ridiculous grin that seems to spread across the city like wildfire whenever the ball's ready to drop – and it still makes her want to vomit.

Not to mention that this year seems to be the coldest yet, with clouds of oxygen rising into the air with every breath – even in this damn cab - which apparently has now pulled up outside Quinn's apartment. Santana thrusts a twenty through the small hole in the divider and hops out, pulling the coat tighter around her body to keep in the warmth. The minutes shrink quickly as she stands outside the aged building, staring up at it like it's going to do anything to quell the anxiety and anticipation swirling inside her stomach. It won't.

"You know if the wind changes your face will be stuck like that," a warm voice comes from the shadows of the porch covered entry, "And then I'd miss your smile."

Santana's heart flips as the body steps out into the light, blonde hair immediately gleaming and blue eyes sparkling. Instantly, the concerned frown disappears from her face, "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," Brittany smiles, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. "Your smile isn't that bad."

Slowly, she shakes her head, ears perking up at the sound of soft footsteps padding towards her. Within a second, Brittany's standing in front of her, hand offered out with eyes hopeful. "You coming in or what?"

Brown eyes flicker up to the illuminated window with several shadows dancing around inside. It's at an awkward angle, but she can still make out the silhouette of Rachel, hand pressed to her chest and mouth open. No doubt she'll be singing a ridiculous song to keep up the entertainment – probably with a sparkled microphone in hand. Santana's pretty sure she carries it around constantly in her bag.

On second thoughts, why is Rachel here?

"Rachel's here?"

Brittany's eyes flicker up, then back. "Yeah… Quinn invited her," her face drops and twists into a pathetic smile. "They're kind of cute."

Santana's face contorts with disgust. "Oh, God. They're not…"

"Hooking up?" Brittany crosses her arms and smiles. "No, not yet anyway. I think they're on their way, though."

They both chuckle into the night, all previous worries, tension and doubts shrinking to the corners of their mind as they just enjoy being together. Brittany grins wider as Santana giggles a little louder, and then they both break out into a full on laughing fit when the blonde lets out a snort, and slaps her hand over mouth with wide eyes like it'll take it back.

To anyone around them, they'd probably just look like two women who belonged in strait jackets back in the asylum, rocking back and forth chanting I'm not crazy over and over again. But it doesn't really matter because when they're like this, it's like they're in their own little world. A bubble that no-one can penetrate because they just don't care what they look like or really give a damn with what's going on around them.

It's just them in this fleeting moment, enjoying each other's company.

Santana thinks this is how it should be.

A stray piece of blonde hair falls over Brittany's face as she dips her head to stare at her feet, shoulders still bobbing up and down with laughter. Santana cocks her head to the side, smiling like an idiot as she tentatively reaches out, fingers grazing along defined cheekbones until they tuck the lock back behind a pink tinted ear. Brittany leans into the touch, her cheek brushing against Santana's wrist and eyes fluttering shut at the sensation which feels way too intense to be deemed platonic.

Focusing intently on holding back the sigh and keeping her eyes open, she retracts her hand, her shoulders dropping dejectedly as the sound of a cab pulling up onto the curb disturbs them. Brittany's head snaps up whilst she wrings her wrists, staring at the figure stepping out of the car. Santana doesn't even need to look around as she takes in the blondes expression, the way Brittany's eyes harden and jaws clench, the way her knuckles press against her skin to turn it deathly white and neck straightens up like reality's just kicked her in the tits.

In some ways, it kind of has.

"Hey babe," Sophie's arm wraps around Santana's waist protectively, pulling slightly so Santana can throw her arm around her wife's shoulders. "Brittany."

"Hey Sophie," Brittany's always been able to keep her emotions in check when it's needed. Santana can't believe that in high school people called the blonde dumb – she's smarter than the majority of people Santana knows. "I'll go back inside," she continues, throwing Santana a sad smile whilst her eyes flicker between the two brunettes, "See you upstairs."

"Yeah, you do that." Sophie grits her teeth and smiles a little too sweetly.

Brows scrunch together as Santana looks to her wife, whilst Brittany disappears behind the glass doors and into the foyer. "What was that?" Santana asks, unlooping her arm and stepping away with narrowed eyes, "What's wrong with you?"

"Lopez!"

Santana jerks her head up, tipping slightly to lean on the balls of her feet as she peers over the top of the cab – looking towards the direction of the voice. When she finds who it is, she knows what feeling she should have – suspicion, jealously, and all that follows – but instead she just plants her feet flat to the floor disinterestedly. Sure, it's pretty strange he's here – but wherever there's a party, he's sure to be lingering around somewhere.

"Puckerman," Santana chirps, "What are you doing here?"

Puck rounds the car, throwing his arm over Santana's shoulder and pulling their bodies together in a side hug. "Met Sophie on the way and she invited me."

A perfectly shaped eyebrow rises, "Did she?"

"Yeah," Puck pulls away, smiling at Sophie and heading towards the entrance Brittany was just at. "Come on then, let's go get drunk and have some fun."

Shoving her hands into her jeans pocket for what feels like the millionth time in a week, Santana stalks inside, brushing past her wife and into the foyer with a clenched jaw. There's no way tonight's going to be any fun, but at least Puck's here to get her absolutely wasted. She always knew there had to be at least one redeeming quality about the guy.

But as her finger prods at the elevator button, highlighting it whilst her mind's miles away - she misses the way Puck winks at Sophie as the doors ding open and mouths "not that kind of fun again."

Santana cracks her neck from left to right, one of her hands gripping a bottle of Budweiser and the other fiddling with a straw as she restrains the urge to bum a cigarette off the guy that keeps disappearing to the roof every five minutes and coming back smelling of stale smoke and the cold air.

He smells awesome right now.

The stool next to her makes a squeaking sound as a body hops onto it, one leg crossing over the other. "What's going on with you and Brittany?"

The sheer bluntness of the question makes her head snap to the left, eyes narrowing at the person Santana least expected to come out with something like that. "Excuse me Berry?"

"What's going on with you two? You both look you've just witnessed someone kicking a puppy."

Santana groans, swigging the remains of her beer before pressing her forehead to the cool surface of the kitchen island, "Nothing."

"Santana…" Berry's voice is low and edging with a warning, and the urge to scoff or make a joke out of the smaller brunette claws at Santana's brain. "Come on, I'm Brittany's best friend."

"Then why don't you ask her?" Santana bites back, the words muffling into the counter.

The sound of another bottle opening slightly perks her attention, but she makes no such physical movement in acknowledgement. She's kind of hoping if she stays like this Rachel will go away – after all, she is the one who said "Eye contact is crucial in the art of conversing, otherwise it can be taken a sign of rudeness and will drive away the other participant" about five minutes into their first meeting. Fingers crossed Rachel gets the hint.

A bottle bumps against the back of her knuckles and Santana only rolls her head slightly, eying up the fresh Budweiser as Rachel pours a glass of what looks like expensive Pinot Grigio, for herself. Grunting this time as a quick thanks to the other woman, Santana pushes aside the empty bottle and grabs the new one, making no such movement to even begin it.

"I tried," Rachel sighs, running her forefinger along the rim of the glass. "But she was kind of…"

Santana doesn't need to hear the distracted with Mike that lingers at the end of her sentence, and squeezes her eyes shut as they blur the pale green marble countertop that's way too close to her face. The unspoken words wind around her throat and she swallows heavily. She guesses this is what it feels like for Noah when he saw Allie with that Lon guy in the Notebook.

Wait, did she really just think that?

"So what's going on?"

At that moment, Santana picks up her head and locks onto blue eyes staring back at her with an innate sadness. Brittany's dancing in the living room, body swaying to the music and hips moving rhythmically like she was born to dance. Well, Santana knows Brittany was definitely born to dance, ever since she first saw the blonde in her contemporary class back in middle school. Still, Santana kind of wishes Quinn didn't' have a glass wall separating the kitchen from the living room - because she can see the way Mike's hands roam all over a perfect body, fingers lingering dangerously low over the small of Brittany's bare back since the dress she's wearing dips incredibly low.

Mike can dance too, sure, but judging by the way his body moves, he's more of a music-video/hip-hop kind of dancer – instead of Brittany's dance because it makes her feel free (even though she's totally kick ass at most dance genres). Then again, that makes sense considering Mike's a choreographer who's created all the dance sequences for artists like Ja Rule, 50 Cent, and Leo Moctezuma. And they were pretty hot videos.

It kind of makes Santana feel better that Brittany's paying zero attention to the guy grinding his pelvis into hers, his palms curving down her butt whilst he whispers something dangerously close to her ear. Sophie's over in the corner, talking to Puck and Quinn and sipping on a drink that's a disgusting shade of yellow but she only knows that because of the high pitched laugh her wife seems to have.

Santana wonders when Sophie got that damn annoying.

But she still loves her, in sickness and health and all that jazz. She's sure she does. It would just be nice to go back to being completely oblivious for her growing feelings towards Brittany and back to the time when romance existed between her and Sophie.

On second thoughts, she's not so sure she wants that.

"I'm going outside," Santana stands abruptly from the chair the moment Brittany throws her head back in laughter, suddenly focused on Mike kissing her neck and spinning her around the room with him, her feet off the floor with her body scooped up in his muscular arms.

"Do you want me to come wi-"

"No," Santana snaps at Rachel, wondering if she ever answered her question. "I mean," she shuffles, twisting the bottle in her hand and feeling the ring on her left hand scrap against the glass, "No thank you. I wanna be alone for a few minutes."

Rachel gives her a concerned smile, but shakes her head anyway, picking up her glass and heading towards Sophie, Puck and Quinn. Santana breathes in deeply, her eyes closing at the sensation of reduced jealousy course through her veins and stalks towards the door leading towards the roof – knowing the guy with the cigarettes disappeared there about three minutes ago.

Turns out she needed more than one cigarette, and ending up offering the guy ten dollars to buy the rest of the pack. Slightly unwillingly, the guy called Dave, or Drew or something handed it over, taking the cash and shoving it down in his pocket. She could've headed towards the convenience store two blocks down, but that would involve explaining to Sophie where she was going and Sophie never approved of her method for stress release i.e. smoking. Nor did Brittany for that matter – something about her smelling like Mrs Henderson and refused to talk to her unless she took a shower.

Of course, every time, she did and returned to a grinning Brittany.

It's been an hour that she's been standing outside in the cold, baring it because the thought of heading back inside is worse than suffering from a mild case of pneumonia and/or losing a toe to frostbite. Okay, slight exaggeration, but you get it.

She's pretty much distracted herself by watching the puffs of air come out her mouth in neat circles, a trick Puckerman taught her back in high school, underneath the bleachers when she was waiting for Brittany to get out of Cheerio practice. Those tight, red uniforms were definitely eye-catching, and not wanting to reveal her under the jean secret – she pretty much did anything to stray from staring at the short pleats flowing in the light wind and revealing the Cheerios long, muscular legs.

Including spending a lot of time with Puck; a guy who'd been trying to get into her pants for the past two years and consequently failed miserably every time. She didn't mind after the third week of smoking cigarettes under the bleachers and blowing smoke rings, though, Puck was alright, even if he was a sex-driven maniac.

"Fuck," she groans, throwing her head back and blowing a trail of smoke into the air, watching it disappear into the night sky. Trying not to think about Brittany or what happened between them, is without doubt the hardest thing she's ever done. And she's had to go through high school with people being pantsed daily and trying to hide the fact she's got guy parts – so that's saying something.

It gets to the ten minute countdown to midnight, and Santana decides to go back inside – after all, she may be a lot of things, but she's not rude, or unsociable – and staying outside is only going to make her seem that way. It doesn't matter – she's neither and doesn't want to be perceived as them – so back inside it is.

Santana enters the party, immediately brushing past the dancing bodies and random people and heads for the liquor table where she grabs a bottle of tequila. The last time she drunk this stuff was back in high school, and usually it was off the plane of Brittany's stomach because body shots was there party trick – but the thought of doing that now first of all inappropriate, and second of all pretty arousing. She wonders how the hell she ever did all that stuff without running out the room with a pillow pressed to her crotch.

Anyway, Rachel gives her a smile from across the room when she comes into view, and so does Quinn – but Santana silently shouts stay there with her eyes because they seem pretty close and she doesn't want to ruin that. Turning back towards the kitchen, she heads there and grabs two shot glasses out the nearest cupboard. Seriously, it's ridiculous how relaxed she is in Quinn's apartment, considering this is the first time she's ever been here. Not to mention that she's never had a full on conversation with the blonde – bar the convenience store talk, but that was rudely interrupted by the fruit dwarf.

She pours out five glasses, since there's only five in there and fills them – lining up and gets ready to down them. Inside her mind it's like she's racing against herself so she downs them all in concession, too fast to feel the burn of the each single one and instead resulting in a giant one that makes her claw at the skin of her throat. She cocks her hip against the side of the table, one hand still grasping the last shot glass whilst the other braces her body. This is the first time since high school that she's ever drunk away her feelings, or not been able to cope with them so she found the resolution in a bottle of whatever she could afford/score.

"Yo, Lopez," Puck swings into the kitchen, can of beer in hand and the top half of his body swaying faster than the bottom. He's drunk. "What's cooking good looking?"

"Seriously, Noah?" Santana scoffs, "What's cooking good looking?" The alcohol must be having more effect on her than she thought because she's now throwing her head back in laughter, joking around like she used too when back in high school with Puckerman.

"Yeah, you know how I roll."

She continues to laugh, rolling her eyes whilst her hand clenches into a fist and jabs him lightly in the arm – since apparently it has a mind of its own. "You're such a loser."

Puck perks up, resting his butt against the counter as his eyes are trained on something across the room. "A loser who got laid an hour ago."

The laughter dies down, "Oh yeah? With who?" She turns back to the counter, reaching across to grab the tequila bottle and pouring a few shots out. "Puck?"

Puck's tense and no longer laughing or moving for that matter. "What?"

"I asked who?"

She downs a shot whilst Puck's brain slowly kicks back into action. "Annabelle, some chick from the bar down the road I met earlier."

"There's a bar down the road?" She's only asking because in the cab ride, she was pretty sure she mentally clocked all the available/open shops down the road – and according to her memory there was only a convenience store. But hey, she's probably wrong. "Well as long as you weren't silly and wrapped your willy."

Wow, the alcohol must be getting to her.

"S'all good – chick won't do it without though," Puck takes a swig of his beer and nods. "But she's a good lay so fuck it."

Santana caps the bottle and turns her head to him. "You've slept with her more than once? Wow Puckerman, someone's getting all domestic." She's pretty sure she sees Puck tense once more, but then again, she did just make a rhyme about wearing a condom so maybe the alcohol's just getting to her.

"She's good in bed and she wants it daily, nightly and ever so rightly," he shrugs with non-chalance in his tone, "I'm only human."

Santana scoffs. "A human STD."

"Hey!" Puck straightens up, sliding his beer across the counter where it ceremoniously falls off and straight into the bin. Pretty skilled shot if Santana was honest – but if she's learnt one thing over last God knows how many years of friendship with Puckerman is not to give him any reason to get a big head. It's big enough as it his. "I keep up my checks, I'm clear."

"What? Did you bone the doctor to get her to say that too?"

Puck snarls mockingly, "Shut up. Just 'cause you ain't getting any."

Santana stiffens like his words touched a nerve. "What?"

"Jus' saying, you're more wound up than a prostitute on leave."

Santana curls her fingers around the shot glass, chucking it back and swallowing the burn. "How would you know? Soph could be giving it to me 'daily, nightly and ever so rightly.'"

Puck nudges her in the ribs playfully. "Doubt it."

"Fuck off, Noah." Santana responds, a little more serious than she meant. But as soon as she sees Puck with a cocked brow and a knowing smirk, she doesn't regret her tone anymore. "Why? Did Soph tell you something different?"

"Nah," he replies, leaning back against the counter and bringing the beer bottle to his lips whilst his eyes roam around the room. "Just got a radar for these things."

"Whatever," she practically downs the next four shots and then moves to the fridge; grabbing a beer from out of it and clicking it open with her teeth. "I'm good. So what about you anyway? You eyeing up any of these innocent women to mark as your prey?"

Puck chuckles and Santana sips on her beer whilst moving across the kitchen towards the glass pane wall, that looks into the living room. The kitchen's on a slight elevation, about half a metre off the floor and it makes her feel like she's in a VIP booth or something, watching over the crowded floor.

"Nah, it seems only Chang's getting some tonight."

All the blood drains out her face and she's pretty sure if it wasn't for the piping hot jealousy burning through her veins and locking her muscles in place, the beer bottle in her hand would be shattering into a million pieces on the floor. Knowing Brittany and Chang might be getting it on tonight makes the bile rise into the back of her throat and gurgle around. Before now, just having the information from the horse's mouth itself that they haven't had sex has sort of calmed Santana – but the possibility is racing through her mind and makes her stomach feel like it's about to drop out her butt.

"What?" She croaks out, even though there's no way she even wants a reasoning behind that statement.

Puck sidles up beside her, resting his palm flat across the transparent surface of the wall. "Yeah, well, at least I think so. Saw her go into the bathroom about half an hour ago and she hasn't come out since."

Disgust and intense jealousy flashes through her and she jerks away from the wall, shaking her head like she's trying to shake the images and thoughts from her head. "Nah, Britt wouldn't do that."

"Why?"

"Because this is Quinn's apartment, and that's a bathroom."

Puck shrugs and widens his eyes as he spots a redhead dancing alone on the make-shift dance floor in the living room. Immediately, he heads for the door and pauses only to look back and answer Santana's question. "They were pretty steamy on the dance floor and I saw her going into the bathroom. When you gotta do shit, you gotta do shit," he shrugs like this information isn't internally crushing Santana, "I could be wrong. Go check."

And then he raises his eyebrows in a you know I'm right and exits.

Santana's pretty much sweating bricks when can no longer contain herself, needing to know whether Mike and Brittany are in fact fucking in the bathroom and heads straight for it. The distance really isn't that much, but the steps she's taking feel so small and her legs seem to be moving at such a slow pace that it just makes the bathroom door seem like the fucking Eiffel Tower.

She can hear her heart beating loudly in her ears, so loud it's practically dulling out the sound of the bass from the iPod speakers over in the corner. Apparently her saliva ducts have decided to stop functioning because she has to take a sip of her beer every two seconds to keep her mouth even the slightest bit moist, and she's pretty sure she left her calm receptors back in the kitchen because she can't think of anything to try and calm her racing heart.

Fuck, Santana really doesn't know why she thought confirmation of Puck's suspicions was a good idea. But now she's about two steps away from the hallway containing the bathroom, and about three metres away from the bathroom door itself – and she tells herself that it'd be idiot for her to head home and spend the rest of the night wondering whether Brittany was or wasn't doing what she thought.

So with a deep breath, and with her legs feeling like a million tonnes, she drags herself down the hallway and towards the bathroom door.

But she doesn't need to open it before her suspicions are confirmed. Hand pausing on the doorknob she hears the muffled moans and hoarse whispers coming from inside and it slaps her like a wet fish to the head.

She swallows thickly whilst her emotions burn through her body, switching from upset to jealous, to angry to numb – she doesn't know how to feel. This time was going to come, it was inevitable, and frankly, she's being ridiculous. Brittany isn't even hers. Santana's married to another woman, she has no jurisdiction over what Brittany does, she can't say who to do or who not to do. It's not her place.

But her feelings tell her different.

Suddenly something snaps in her chest and she clenches her fists, digging them into the top of her thighs as she half-runs back to the living room, eyes darting frantically in search of her wife. When she finds Sophie, her legs lead her over there so fast she barely remembers bumping into a guy and making him spill his beer down the front of his shirt, and her fingers wrap around a pale forearm.

"Hey, ba-"

"Follow. Me. Now." Santana hisses, tugging on Sophie's arm and yanking her away from whatever conversation she was in.

They reach the hallway and Santana slides past the bathroom, grimacing at the muffled sound she hears coming from it and bites her bottom lip so hard she's pretty sure it's already swelling. There are no objections from Sophie, but even if there were Santana doubts she'd be able to hear them - the beat in her ears is almost deafeningly loud and the red flashing before her eyes is clouding her judgement and vision.

Throwing the door open at the far end of the hallway, and finding an empty bedroom, she practically shoves Sophie inside and kicks the door shut - ignoring the chanting countdown coming from the living room.

Suddenly, she feels like she has permission from Brittany.

Even if she doesn't feel good about it.


End file.
